


Kaleidoscope

by Memoryboard



Series: Love and Madness [1]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Bipolar Disorder, Depression, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff to heal your wounds, M/M, Public Sex, Self-Harm, Smut, Viktor can be a dickhead in this but its not his fault, manic depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-03-06
Packaged: 2018-09-27 13:15:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10022228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memoryboard/pseuds/Memoryboard
Summary: Viktor is many things. Sometimes, he's a bright star. Sometimes, a meteorite. It's a cycle, and Yuuri loves him no matter.(Alternatively, Yuuri slowly discovers Viktor has Bipolar I disorder and loves him through the different phases of cycling)





	1. Bright Star

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a while since I wrote fics, so go easy on me. haha.
> 
> Also, I didn't mean for this to go the way it went (it's in the wee hours of the morning) so I might take this down if I don't like this when I wake up.
> 
> I definitely do not speak for all those with Bipolar I disorder. It varies from person to person depending on the response/coping mechanisms. Also, though this chapter doesn't have them yet, mind that there will be triggers in the succeeding ones. I will warn you beforehand, of course. The explicit warnings are there for a reason. :)
> 
> Sadly, I'm a hermit and no beta-readers available. So, sorry if you stumble upon mistakes.

Viktor is a bright star.

There is no other way to describe him. They had just been engaged, worked their way to a silver medal, and managed to wrangle any misunderstanding on who stays and who leaves the ice they both loved.

Those were wonderful things, milestones in their relationship that brought them closer, but exhausting nevertheless.

So when Viktor asked him to go clubbing with the rest of the finalists in Barcelona, Yuuri couldn’t say no.

“Come on, Yuuri, it’s our last night!” Viktor nudged him while Yuuri was sprawled on the bed, exhausted from yet another day of endless shopping. “And I want to celebrate!”

In response, Yuuri groaned. “I think we just did that during the banquet.”

Viktor jumped on the bed, Yuuri almost falling off from the force, and he stared into Yuuri’s eyes with an expression that could rival even Makkachin’s.

Yuuri tried to restrain himself from laughing.

He didn’t manage.

He shoved at Viktor’s face before getting up, nd then went to open his suitcase, rummaging through what little clean clothes he had. “Phichit threatened to never talk to me again if I didn’t go anyway.”

Viktor practically rolled around the bed like a puppy. Yuuri wasn't even sure if he found this to be annoying or adorable.

“I don’t have anything to wear, though,” Yuuri stared at his suitcase, full of soiled shirts and training gear.

“Babe, you could wear rags and I’d still ride you into the next century.”

-

They chose one of the more discreet clubs on the corner of the street, near their hotel. It as so any of them could go ahead and leave if exhausted.

Chris was talking animatedly with Phichit on one side and a brown-haired man on the other (his boyfriend, Viktor had introduced earlier).

Mila managed to smuggle Yurio in with a fake I.D. that had Viktor calling him “Louis Codfish” all night. He threw a fit from time to time, but seemed to be pacified by Otabek’s whispering. Michele was staring into his glass like it was a piece of art. JJ and Isabella were nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor.

From the looks of it, none of them were going home soon.

“Dance with me,” Viktor nudged Yuuri’s elbow.

Yuuri looked to him, his pale cheeks already flushed from multiple tequila bombs. _He’s going to regret this in the morning,_ Yuuri thought. But Viktor obviously needed some form of release. There's never been a competition this emotionally  _exhausting_ for the both of them before. Yes, the Cup of China had been a pain, but at least Yuuri didn't make Viktor cry.

“Sure.” He took Viktor’s hand and allowed himself to be led into the center of the dance floor, where it was tightly packed with people and smelled alcohol and sweat and god-knows-what.

Had this been any other occasion, had he been sober enough, Yuuri would have been overly-cautious and uncomfortable. But he wasn’t. There was a pleasant buzz in his head, his cheek hot and slightly numb, and with Viktor dancing and grinding against him, all else seemed to never matter.

The green and red lights of the dance floor dimly illuminated Viktor’s beautiful face, his eyes looking dazed, cheeks gorgeously pink.

Viktor dipped his head slightly, his lips close to Yuuri’s ear, breath grazing against his cheek. “Excuse me. Do you come here often?”

This made Yuuri laugh. Viktor’s not in the least good with delivering punchlines, but they had grown so accustomed to each other that somehow all the things they talked about became interesting. Yuuri would probably bore anyone to death, but not Viktor.

But maybe Viktor’s just shallow.

“Somehow, I love you anyway.” Yuuri murmured to Viktor’s shoulder, thinking out loud.

"Wow," Viktor mused. "Had it been any other person telling me they loved me on the first meeting, I'd run to the opposite direction."

They came back to their table two songs later, only to find Michele making out with Emil.

“It is what it looks like,” Yurio said through gritted teeth.

“About time,” Sara commented, perched on the bar to their left. She was downing what looked to be her second round of cosmopolitan.

Phichit was snapping photos. From over his shoulder, Yuuri could see that his friend was already labelling an album “blackmail” and had apparently more than a hundred photos in them. He then proceeded to hook his arm around Yuuri and flipped the camera.

“I’m sending Ciao Ciao some so he doesn’t think I’m wasted,” he said. Yuuri smiled at the camera and saw that his cheeks were slightly pink, too. “And oh, Yuuri…”

Yuuri looked down and saw that he was being handed a shot glass, filled with…well, he didn’t know what it was anymore. He looked to Phichit, eyes slit. Ever since he knew about last year’s banquet, he’s been trying to slip Yuuri a drink whenever he got the chance.

“For the record, that was _one time,_ ” Yuuri frowned.

“It's for a toast,” Phichit shrugged.

Everyone else was holding a shot glass too, Yuuri noticed. When he took the offered glass, Phichit proceeded to raise his own, and gladly announced: “To Viktuuri’s wedding!”

Almost everyone (by almost, this meant everyone except Yurio, who looked away and rolled his eyes) raised their glass and repeated after Phichit. They downed what Yuuri found out to be tequila, and everyone _cheered._ Sara, from the background, shouted: “Give us a kiss!”

This particular request was received with multiple _whoops_ and whistles (again, except Yurio, who covered his eyes and groaned). Yuuri sputtered and waved his palms out, cheeks hot. But before he knew it, Viktor had already dipped him and closed his lips around Yuuri’s. What followed was a chorus of applause and “get a room!”, and soon after, Viktor was laughing. He was at his loveliest when he laughed.

_Yup, this is definitely going into Phichit’s “blackmail” folder._

Before he could face everyone else and sputtered, Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s arm and dragged him into the dance floor. Maybe if he gave it enough time, their friends would go back to doing what it was that they were doing. As soon as Yuuri managed to squeeze them both into the dancing crowd, albeit more packed now that most were already drunk and giddy, he pulled Viktor toward him. Yuuri’s hands went around his neck, and Viktor’s around Yuuri’s waist.

Yuuri sighed. Despite the embarrassment, he _was_ happy. He’s never really shown affection toward Viktor in public like that, not one that he remembered anyway, but he’s glad that he had a fiancé that was willing to parade him around like that. Viktor, throughout their time together, was never ashamed of doing so.

Not that Yuuri was ashamed. He was rather proud of Viktor, grateful for each and every day that they were together. But there was no way in hell he’d be the first to kiss his fiancé in public without his dignity shriveling up to die right then and there.

There were so many people, so many dancing bodies, so many scents mixing together, but when he buried his nose into the crook of Viktor’s neck, he felt safe. He smelled of their shampoo and Viktor’s favorite perfume, plus tad bit of sweat and rum, but still Viktor.

Viktor momentarily removed one of his hands from Yuuri’s waist, and Yuuri saw that he still held a tall glass of dark liquid. Viktor downed a third of it, proceeded to kiss Yuuri, only to spill some of the alcohol into Yuuri’s mouth.

It was messy, kind of. Some of the rum ran down Yuuri’s chin, down to his neck, and unto his shirt. He was about to wipe it off when Viktor caught his hand and _licked_ at the spilled rum.

Yuuri shivered. All the blood in his veins were going southward at an alarmingly fast rate. Viktor lightly swiped his tongue over Yuuri’s mouth, chin, and then lower. As soon as he was done licking up the rum, he began to suck lightly unto Yuuri’s neck. Bit and sucked and licked over the abused skin.

“ _Viktor._ ”

“Hmmm?” Viktor asked, his hands back on Yuuri’s waist, albeit holding the other closer now. He began nipping at Yuuri’s ear, body moving more slowly now, grinding against Yuuri in a way that could be deemed inappropriate in a public setting.

Yuuri sighed. At least no one knew them on the dance floor, or at least it was too dark to tell. They both shared the rum the same way, kissing and lapping up anything that spilled, and Yuuri had to admit that it was kind of hot.

By the time they’ve gone through the whole glass, Yuuri had taken off his glasses, now slung on the front of his shirt. Viktor’s hair was now a mess from Yuuri combing his fingers through and pulling at them repeatedly.

Viktor’s hands were now roaming around. At first they were just rubbing against Yuuri’s waist, then they proceeded to untuck Yuuri’s shirt so he could explore the skin underneath. No one seemed to care, but if there were, maybe the both of them had been too drunk to notice. Yuuri returned the favor by unbuttoning a few buttons on Viktor’s shirt, and when he had exposed enough skin, he bit unto the delicate skin of his collarbone. This elicited a moan almost loud enough to cause a few heads to turn toward them, but apparently, Yuuri had become somewhat confident enough to shrug this off.

_Must be the rum._

And then it happened. Viktor pulled him close, and unapologetically ground his hips against Yuuri’s.

_Jesus Christ, he was hard._

Viktor bent down and took Yuuri’s earlobe into his mouth again, and sucked.

“Yuuri,” he whispered, voice deep and unmistakably aroused. “The men’s room is mostly deserted.”

Yuuri has never felt all the blood rush down to his cock this fast before. In a public place, too.

He closed his eyes, slotted their lips together, tongue flicking into Viktor’s mouth.

Oh dear god, they were both going to regret this in the morning.

-

They barely make it into the restroom.

Viktor was already working with Yuuri’s belt by the time they had stumbled into a stall, their mouths pressed together, tongues in a brutal battle for dominance. It was inelegant, messy. Their noses and teeth collided, spit and sweat was everywhere. There’s an weird scent in the air, probably puke mixed with alcohol, but that wasn’t their concern at the moment. Viktor’s fingers worked on Yuuri’s trousers, popping the button open and pulling his zipper down.

It took several moments before the both of them noticed that the they hadn’t closed the door. Seeing this, Viktor slammed it shut and shoved Yuuri against it, the force was enough for him to feel his head and shoulder blades throb. But that didn’t matter either. They were both desperate and drunk and aroused.

Yuuri was still marking a pattern around his neck when Viktor suddenly dropped to his knees, freed Yuuri’s cock from his trousers, and took _all_ of his length hurriedly into his mouth. The shock of this didn’t allow Yuuri the time to cover his mouth, or to bite his lip, or to think about ever getting embarrassed by the sounds he’s making. Instead, he _groaned_. This had probably encouraged Viktor, because he was taking Yuuri as deep as he could, eyes watering when he took it too far, and Yuuri couldn’t help but take a fistful of his silver hair and tugged.

Viktor moaned against him, reached up to shove two fingers into Yuuri’s mouth, and Yuuri sucked on it as hard as he could. Viktor was swirling his skilled tongue around the tip of Yuuri’s cock while his hand continued to stroke him. Yuuri didn’t know if it was the hurry, the drunkenness, or if it had been intentional, but he could feel just the right amount teeth—and it felt _so_ good.

The obscene image of Viktor in front of him, the fact that they were doing this in a public restroom, and Viktor’s fingers that are now probing Yuuri’s entrance was enough to send him over the edge.

“V-Victor,” he whispered, almost hissing.

When Viktor didn’t reply, he took a fistful of his fiancé’s hair and yanked his head away, almost none too gently. Yuuri was heaving now, sweat trickling in fat drops down his neck, face and chest hot and flushed.

“Get up,” Yuuri demanded.

Viktor blinked once.

Twice.

And then he stood, towering over Yuuri but nonetheless keeping his head low. Yuuri hurriedly worked on his trousers, and as soon as he was able to pull Viktor’s cock free, he found that it was already dripping with pre-come. Yuuri stroked him with ease, the slick sound so lewd Yuuri thought he might just come then and there if he didn’t hold himself together.

Viktor braced himself on his hands, trapping Yuuri against the door, their mouths licking and kissing and biting.

“Yuuri,” Viktor moaned, his hips moving against Yuuri’s hand, moving of their own accord.

Yuuri took the hint and let go. Instead, his hands went to Viktor’s waist, and pushed his hips forward. Viktor pressed him to the wall, their lengths deliciously grinding against each other, slick with spit and pre-come. Yuuri took Viktor’s mouth in his, moaned against his lips, breathing the air he breathes.

“You feel _so_ good,” Viktor muttered. He was cursing, Yuuri noticed. In Russian, in French, and god knows what else.

Yuuri was barely holding it together, and by the irregular breathing coming out of Viktor’s mouth, he seemed to be feeling the same way. Yuuri reached between them, taking both of their lengths together, and began to stroke. Viktor whimpered, his eyes closing shut, lips moving from Yuuri’s mouth to his neck, sucking audibly.

Yuuri gasped, closed his eyes, and pumped even faster. Viktor was moving against his hand, his thrusts adding to the friction, and oh god Yuuri was so close.

“V-Vitya…If you keep going…” Yuuri whispered, breath uneven. "If you keep going, I might..."

Instead of slowing down, instead of taking any hint at all, Viktor thrusts even faster.

Yuuri bit down on Viktor’s shoulder, mostly to muffle his groan, and he spilled come all over his hand. Viktor followed soon after, spilling all over their lengths, thrusts slowing down to a stop.

They held each other like that for a while, Yuuri allowing his vision to clear, and waited until their breaths evened out. Yuuri wasn’t sure if he was drunk on alcohol or just high off Viktor, but he smiled nonetheless, smothering Viktor’s jawline with soft kisses.

Now that Yuuri wasn’t so aroused anymore, he began noticing a few things around them. Someone was puking on the stall next to them, the music had mellowed down, the sink was running. Most of all, it was the smell of the place. It smelled like vomit and alcohol (and well, now it smelled like sex).

Viktor raised his head, hair adorably rumpled, his breath now caught up. “So, one off the bucket list?”

Yuuri pushed at him with his other hand. “I never heard of this list.”

-

Thank god for toilet paper. Yuuri’s never gone clubbing on a regular basis, but when Phichit managed to drag him along during their time in Detroit, the restrooms didn’t always have them. Or soap. Or water to clean the mess on the sink.

They cleaned up inside the stall. Although, to be honest, Yuuri still felt a bit sticky inside his pants—but at least there wasn’t any evidence. Sort of. Except now he was wearing a red necklace where Viktor hadn’t bothered to hide the bite marks.

When they get back to their table, Yuuri’s hope of diffusing the embarrassing situation all went down the drain as soon as he saw Chris’ knowing look trained on them. Not that Yuuri could blame him, but his and Viktor’s clothes were obviously too rumpled to begin with, and as Chris whispered something like “had fun?”, Viktor winked.

Yuuri tried to cover the red blotches on his neck by pulling up his collar, but Yurio had already seen it.

With a disgusted look, Yurio proclaimed, quite loudly, “Oi, Viktor! When I said get a room, I didn’t mean a bathroom stall!”

_Oh dear god._

-

Yuuri awoke alone on the bed. They had forgotten to draw the curtains close last night and Christ, somebody ought to get rid of the sun. Yuuri reached for his phone to check if Viktor left any text messages, but there wasn’t any. He began typing on his phone when his apparent question had been answered by the sound of retching in the bathroom.

Yuuri got up, as slowly as he could, and felt his head spin. Before he could even think about it, he rushed to the bathroom, found the sink occupied by Viktor, and so he rushed straight to the toilet. He poured the contents of his stomach, mostly burning acid. They didn’t have a proper dinner the night before so that was probably why.

The both of them stayed there for a couple of minutes, either hunched over or retching, and finally, when they’ve emptied their stomachs, Viktor laughed.

“Ohayo,” Viktor said.

Yuuri turned to see him still hunched over the sink. The two of them were in their sleeping clothes. How the hell that happened, let alone how they arrived safely at their hotel room, Yuuri wasn’t sure. The last thing he remembered was apparently taking the party to Chris’ room and Yuuri had too many drinks on a stupid card game Mila concocted.

“In Chris’ room,” Yuuri muttered. “Did I do something…I don’t know…”

Viktor laughed, washing his face and reaching for his toothbrush. “If you’re asking if you stripped, I wouldn’t know.”

Right. Viktor drank rum and tequila and brandy last night like he was on water therapy.

“What do _you_ remember?”

Viktor stared at him, face blank. “I don’t know, that you asked me to dance?”

Silence.

“Joking! I was joking,” Viktor knelt in front of Yuuri and caught his chin.

Yuuri put a finger between them. “Maybe after we’ve brushed our teeth.”

“Right.”

-

They rescheduled their flight in the evening. Mostly because Yuuri’s been retching all day. He couldn’t even keep water down for god’s sake, but with a few pills and rest, he was able to recover. Viktor hadn’t, though. He looked like he had just gone on days without sleeping.

So Yuuri did the packing for both of them while Viktor slept, and when it was time to go, he gently woke Viktor and they were off to the airport. They’ve texted Minako and Mari to go on ahead, and although both women had also been out with the coaches last night, they seemed to have been fine the morning after. Viktor did puke endlessly during the plane ride, though. Enough to have the flight staff ask if it was his first time flying or if he wanted a doctor. Viktor shrugged them off with a smile, and instead, spent the rest of flight (when he wasn’t retching) asleep on Yuuri’s shoulder.

A few hours on air and a heck of train ride later, they’ve arrived at the Yu-topia with a surprise party filled with Katsudon, congratulations, an adorably hyper Makkachin, and a hyperventilating Minami. Yuuko and her husband were there too, hugging Yuuri whilst crying. The triplets, fresh out of school, were asking for Instagram-worthy selfies. Yuuri was glad that Viktor’s stomach had settled enough to have him munching on food to no end, although he did make a sour face when Minako offered him _sake_.

When mostly everyone was gone, along with all the food and _sake_ , they were left with Yuuri’s okaa-san and otou-san, Mari, and Minako-sensei.

As they were cleaning up, Hiroko gestured for Yuuri to follow her. Yuuri hoped this wasn’t what he thought it was. He didn’t particularly ask for their permission on the engagement per se, nor did they know that it wasn’t Viktor who brought it up first…

They stopped in front of the stairs, out of earshot. “I know you love, Viktor…”

“ _Okaa-san._ ”

“…and I know he’s a great man. Your otou-san and I like him, but have you asked his parents about this? Have you met them?”

Yuuri’s mouth went dry.

“Well?”

“The-the engagement sort of just…happened.” Yuuri shrugged.

He didn’t really know how to explain the spontaneity of their engagement to anyone. If there’s anything that he’s learned ever since he was with Viktor, it was the fact that labels didn’t really matter. Viktor was the kind of man who expressed everything in action and Yuuri loved him for it.

So when Viktor publicly announced their engagement, it was just their thoughts spoken out loud. They both knew from the moment they slipped the rings unto each other’s fingers what they were. It was like Viktor introducing Yuuri as his boyfriend for the first time—they both knew that already, so there was never the need for a confirmation.

“Yuuri, I’m not mad about you getting engaged,” Hiroko said. “I’m thinking about Vicchan. Have you met his parents yet? Have you asked for their permission?”

Yuuri put his face in his hands. “Okaa-san,” he sighed, although he managed to keep his tone gentle. “It’s a bit complicated with them. Vitya hasn’t said much about them but it’s not something we should stick our noses in. Not yet anyway.”

“Alright,” Hiroko smiled, he pinched his cheek, like she always would when Yuuri was younger. “My little boy is growing up.”

" _Has_ grown up."

-

“Yuuri,” Viktor shifted behind him, lips tracing the line of Yuuri’s spine. “Ohayo.”

“No jogging today?” Yuuri muttered, not fully awake.

Viktor snorted behind him. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Yuuri kicked him lightly.

There was silence for a moment. It was one of those lazy mornings when they both know there wasn’t any work to be done. They’d stay close to one another for hours, hazily trying to wake from deep sleep, Makkachin at their feet.

“Come with me to St. Petersburg.”

Yuuri’s heart fluttered. Ever since they got together, their level of intimacy had slowly become closer than ever. It took a while before the first kiss, then sharing a bed, then—well, the other things Yuuri only dreamed of years before Viktor came to the Yu-topia. They never discussed plans about getting their own apartment but they might have as well been going in that direction anyway.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri chided. “I wanted to wait until marriage before living together.”

Viktor blew a raspberry on the back of Yuuri’s neck. “Liar.”

Yuuri laughed.

“But will you? I mean, your parents must’ve missed you from being away for five years.”

Yuuri turned around to face him, finger pressed to Viktor’s lips. Viktor was beautiful in the morning. His silvery hair rumpled and eyes dreamy. “Their son’s engaged. They had it coming. I’m sure you know they like you, so I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Mari-neechan gave me the shovel talk last night.”

“Yeah,” Yuuri flushed. “She’s probably surprised I got engaged before she did.”

“Hmm-mmm.”

Yuuri brushed his hair from his face, and Viktor leaned into the touch. “Will you start practicing, then? No katsudon, none of that seafood…”

“Hey!”

“But you _are_ getting out of shape though,” Yuuri smirked.

Viktor’s eyes lit up with alarm, and quite abruptly, looked down to check his stomach. Makkachin, whose sleep was disrupted by this particular outburst, whined. She got up, sleepily moved to Yuuri’s side of the bed, and went back to sleep.

“I’m the one you’ve been ordering to run around, so I’m in prime condition.”

Not that Viktor looked like he wasn’t fit at all, he was. Yuuri wondered where he’s been working out all this time. He’d be _annoyed_ if he knew this was one of those metabolism things where one could stay fit no matter how much they drank or ate. Minako-sensei was the same.

“I’ll start where I can,” Viktor said simply. “You know how I am.”

“Don’t overwork yourself,” Yuuri kissed him lightly.

And they lay like that, for hours until noon, matching rings glinting in the morning light.


	2. Meteor Shower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fluff and shit. (Mostly day-to-day issues when BP acts up on its "Mania" cycle)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooooooo, I guess the succeeding chapters are gonna get longer and longer, huh? (yay or nay?)
> 
> Also, I do not speak for all those with Bipolar I disorder. Viktor is basically me here, but prettier and loaded with cash. He also has a gorgeous fiance, so fml.
> 
> No triggers yet on this chapter. (Will surely warn you ahead if there are!)
> 
> Also, self-beta'd (ran through it twice), so grammar/spelling geeks please forgive me.

Viktor is a meteor shower.

He is wondrous, he is rare. He is one that Yuuri could only dream of—and seeing him, _being_ with him was the most pleasant thing that’s happened to him in a long time.

The move to St. Petersburg hadn’t been easy. Yuuri had taken his time telling his parents, of course. They weren’t opposed to Viktor and Yuuri living together before, they weren’t now, but they did express how much they’d miss him. Overhearing this, Viktor was more than willing to the change plans (albeit abruptly), but Yuuri reminded him that Yakov couldn’t possibly come to Japan just for him.

Besides, they had a lot of time.

They could always come visit Hasetsu in the future. Viktor loved it there.  Yuuri was sure he wouldn’t be opposed to the idea of a vacation from time to time.

Moving in felt natural, too. It was all very new (for the both of them, Viktor reminded) but it felt right. None of that awkward, first-time-getting-their-own-apartment crap. They’ve shared a bed and lived with Yuuri’s family at the Yu-topia for months now.

Yuuri carried most of his skating gear and some clothes with him during the flight, all else shipped via carrier to be delivered at their doorstep soon.

At the moment, Viktor was sifting through the cupboards as Yuuri sipped at his morning coffee. Viktor was wearing a sweater and a nice pair of jeans, hair slightly frizzy from the cold outside. Yuuri had no reason to go out, so he was still in his boxers.

“Didn’t we buy rice from that Japanese market downtown last week?” Viktor asked, back turned to Yuuri.

Alas, Viktor Nikiforov was as forgetful as the first time they met. “We didn’t end up buying it, remember?”

“Oh,” Viktor muttered. “How about pancakes, hmmm?”

That was how their mornings usually went. Yuuri wakes early, makes the coffee, and sometimes surfs through some Russian television to familiarize himself with the language. He’d repeat some of the common words of phrases he could catch, tried watching the news, and wrote down what little Cyrillic he knew.

Viktor wakes a bit later, walks Makkachin, and comes back with either breakfast or some groceries.

By groceries, Yuuri meant that Viktor’s been picking up quite a few things during his and Makkachin’s walks. At first, it was just some bread or peanut butter they still didn’t need to restock. Soon, however, Viktor often came home with more milk than they could consume in a week just because there was a poodle on the carton.

The latest prize of his impulsiveness sat on the table—an old sweater he found at the flea market, too big for either of them. When Yuuri asked why he thought it was a good idea to purchase it, Viktor only shrugged and told him, “It seemed like a good idea two hours ago.”

The routine goes on. They take turns to wash the dishes, sometimes lounge on the couch for a movie or just more Russian television. In the middle of the day, Viktor would perk up and say, “I want to go to the rink today.”

Yuuri had agreed to finish the season. Viktor will accompany him as coach during that time all the while preparing his own routines for the Russian Nationals. After he’s done that, he’s going to work with Yuuri for _his_ next season. This seemed a lot of work and Yuuri was slightly daunted, but Viktor would often smile and tell him, “It’s not hard work when I love what I do,” he’d said. “Well, I love it thanks to you, anyway.”

So when Viktor goes to the rink, even without any scheduled practice, Yuuri came along. Mostly just to familiarize himself with the new environment. It was in between competitions, but Yurio was there, along with Mila and Georgi. Yakov’s lurking around the corner, commenting (sometimes yelling) on their form and execution.

Viktor would often coach Yuuri for a while, runs both of his routines twice before he dismisses Yuuri for individual practice, and then Viktor would skate on his own.

And Jesus, he was beautiful. Watching Viktor close his eyes, arms and body moving as his golden blades lightly glided on the ice, and Yuuri knew what Viktor meant when he said the body can create music. Looking at him move was like turning the rest of the world on mute, allowing the music of Viktor’s dancing to take over.

Yuuri was ready to give up his career for this.

“Oi, Katsudon!” Yurio sneered. “If you’re not skating, get off the ice or something. You’re getting in the way.”

Yuuri moved away to a corner, momentarily dazed and uncomfortable, then decided on practicing his jumps. He’s been fidgety lately, with a new environment and new people around him, it was a struggle to adjust. Nearly not enough people skated in Hasetsu, so Yuuri usually had the Ice Castle to himself.

The Russian rink was different, though. A lot of skaters training under Yakov were there on a regular basis, the changing rooms smelled of sweat, the shower rooms open and full of people.

Everyone was making an effort to speak English for him, though not all of them spoke fluently, so he swore to he needed to catch up soon.

“Yuuri!” Viktor called from one end of the rink, his phone to his ear. “Okaa-san’s calling!”

Yuuri smiled. Anyone else would miss the fact that Viktor just called Yuuri’s mom ‘okaa-san’, but not Yuuri. His chest fluttered a little as he skated toward his fiancé, nudging at him lightly when Viktor said, “she said she called me because you weren’t picking up.”

At least things weren’t so bad.

-

They had dinner and a few drinks with Mila and Yurio that night. Georgi disappeared right after saying he’s late for a date and none of them bothered to stop him. Mila said it was good that he was finally moving on. Surprisingly, Yurio agreed to this, but not without adding, “it was getting fucking annoying.”

Halfway through dinner, Viktor expressed his sudden desire to train under Mila’s strength coach.

“Are you sure?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Hmmm-hmm,” Viktor smiled. “Considering Yuuri’s stamina, it looks like I need to catch up.”

He looked to Yuuri and winked.

This, however, prompted varied reactions—Mila giggled, Yurio gagged, and Yuuri turned redder than the cherry on his dessert.

“Don’t be disgusting!” Yurio spat. “It’s called aging, old man. Get used to it.”

Viktor pouted. Yurio turned away and muttered something in Russian that didn’t sound all too nice.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Viktor continued, eyes sliding toward Yuuri. “ _Someone_ said I was starting to get out of shape.”

“Well, you were letting me hike up the steps often,” Yurri shrugged, wincing as he remembered almost breaking a lung in the first few days of his training. “And when I jog, you’re mostly on your bike.”

Mila crossed her arms, eyes turned to slits. “You don’t look like you’re out of shape.”

Viktor shrugged, looking rather smug, and shot Yuuri what could only be an I-told-you-so face.

“He drinks a lot, too.” Yuuri said, hands waving around to express his frustration. “I indulge a little, maybe a fourth of what he eats, and I bloat.” He turned to Viktor. “Must be nice, being you.”

Mila shrugged, her expression looked as if she figured something out, and then said, “Must be the sex.”

There was silence, but only for a moment.

Yuuri’s cheeks and ears turned instantaneously hot. Yurio, who was apparently drinking juice, had choked. Viktor was laughing really hard, talking in Russian, in what sounds to be something like agreement in his tone.

_Dear god, why?_

-

“Viktor,” Yuuri called out, sleepily. “Come to bed.”

“In a bit, _zolotse_ ,” Viktor called from the desk across the room. It was dark, save for the study lamp. “I’m just trying to figure out your routine for the next season.”

“Next season is next _year_.”

“In a bit.”

Yuuri raised his head to peer at the direction of the desk. “Vitya, it’s two in the morning.”

“Yes, but—”

“Yes, but if Yakov yells at you for being late for practice, I’m not the one responsible for it.” Yuuri said, then he set his head back unto the pillow.

He heard Viktor sigh, the shuffling of papers, and then the sound of clothes being shed. Viktor crawled underneath the covers, Makkachin momentarily waking to give room. Yuuri felt arms slide around his waist and Viktor’s warmth press against his back.

Viktor began to ghost kisses down the back of Yuuri’s neck, and he shivered at the contact. Yuuri drifts to sleep again, but still slightly awake, Viktor’s kisses strangely comforting. Suddenly, Yuuri felt a bite, and then Viktor sucked on the skin.

“Vitya…” Yuuri muttered, trying his best not to move.

Then, Viktor pulled him closer, grinding his hips behind Yuuri and— _oh_.

“Vitya?”

“Yes?”

“Why are you _hard_?”

Viktor hummed, hands roaming now. They were on Yuuri’s chest, on his stomach, then lower, then lower.

“Vitya, I’m—”

Viktor didn’t seem to take any hint at all. Instead, he proceeded to cup Yuuri through his boxers. Yuuri gasped.

"You looked extremely pretty,  _zolotse._ That's why."

His sleepiness receded quickly, his cock twitching under Viktor’s touch.

Viktor’s breath was hot against Yuuri’s ear. “Let me do all the work.”

-

If Viktor ever complained about his dwindling stamina, he’s been lying. Despite having only slept for maybe an hour or so (and before that, he was fucking Yuuri until the bedframe shook), he was doing quite fine on the ice. He ran through Yuuri’s routine for the World’s twice, both Free Skate and Short Programs, had his practice with Yakov, practiced jumps for a while, helped with Yurio’s step sequences, and asked Yuuri to stay so he could introduce a few steps of Yuuri’s program for _next_ season.

“It’s still very new!” Viktor announced. “So we still have to work on it. Maybe put most of the quads in the second half? You could do it, can you?”

“I don’t think I can put that many quads in the second half,” Yuuri groaned.

He’s done it several times, sure. Practicing until either his lungs or legs gave out—whichever came first. But he’s never done multiple quads in succession whilst competing, let alone packing them all into the second half.

“Of course you can! Wanna bet?”

By the time Viktor’s done with him, Yuuri was sitting on the tiled floor in one of the shower stalls, not minding the shower head spraying in irregular ratios of strangely-smelling water. His body was sore. His legs. His back. His _ass_. He can’t believe Viktor still had enough energy to chat up a few younger skaters about the benefits of adopting a poodle.

 _It must have been the caffeine_. Yuuri sighed. Viktor’s been drinking an alarming amount lately.

-

That same night, Viktor decided to grab dinner at an obnoxiously fancy restaurant.

Yuuri leaned in to whisper, “Is it okay?”

Viktor’s eyebrows were raised. “What?”

“Is it okay that we’re wearing training gear.”

It wasn’t one of those suit-and-tie restaurants per se, but a fancy one nonetheless. Everyone else was wearing nicer clothes—the both of them, wearing track pants and faded sweaters plus their humongous gym bags, stood out.

“Doesn’t matter,” Viktor shrugged. He reached over to take Yuuri’s hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I found a language class nearby, you know, for immigrants.”

Yuuri didn’t know why he felt his stomach flip at the word ‘immigrant’. It was a strangely superficial word, but it had meant a lot to the both of them. If Yuuri officially became an immigrant, he might as well have permanently moved his home address to Russia. To where Viktor is. “Oh? When’s the classes?”

“Four to six on Saturdays,” Viktor replied. His eyes trained on Yuuri for a moment, and then suddenly, it was as if his attention shifted altogether. “When this season’s over, let’s drive around Europe.”

Yuuri’s eyes widened, confused at the sudden change of topic. “Huh?”

“Drive around Europe,” Viktor played with Yuuri’s fingers, his eyes trailed on the shinning gold band. “I’d take you to Prague, Amsterdam. Maybe Croatia. Croatia’s beautiful. Then we could go to Milan.”

“Just Croatia would be nice,” Yuuri smiled.

Viktor shrugged. “I could always map out a month-long trip. Five countries, minimum.”

“ _Vitya,_ ” Yuuri nudged his ankles from underneath the table. “We’ll have so much time together when we’re _older_ and can’t compete anymore. Besides, I’d love to explore one place and enjoy it than go through a lot of them without seeing everything.”

Viktor smiled, brought Yuuri’s hand to his lips, and kissed it gently. His eyes sparkled a bit. “You’re right. Croatia it is, then.”

-

Viktor’s impulsive buying habits had gotten a lot worse.

First, it was a jacket. Designer. It had leather details, some shiny metallic fabric, but most of the garment was covered in leopard print.

“I saw it and remembered Yurio!” Viktor explained, cheerily.

Yuuri brushed it off. He thought it was sweet, Viktor buying something that reminded him of Yurio, but he couldn’t help but look at the price tag and shake his head. That one jacket could buy them a new fridge.

The next time it happened, Viktor showed up at the apartment, a blue gift bag in hand.

“What’s this?” Yuuri had asked.

He was chopping up onions for dinner. Thankfully, Viktor (the slave driver), hadn’t snuck in practices for next season’s choreography that day. Viktor was off with Mila to the gym and Yuuri had nothing to do so he offered to throw something together.

Yuuri was a college student in Detroit once, he can manage dinner.

“Open it,” Viktor smiled excitedly, stepping behind Yuuri so he could wrap his arms around the other’s waist.

Yuuri peered into the gift bag and gasped.

Inside, were a new pair of skates.

“You,” Yuuri stared, brain sputtering. He turned around to face Viktor, who had a faint smile creeping at the corner of his mouth. “You didn’t have to. My skates were new, needed sharpening, yes, but—”

Viktor kissed him, effectively shutting him up. It was brief, almost a peck, but it made Yuuri giddy regardless.

“Thank you,” Yuuri sighed, forehead leaning against Viktor’s. “You didn’t have to, but thank you. They’re beautiful.”

The latest event of the said impulsive buying came in the form of a boxed item delivered to their apartment one Sunday afternoon.

They were having one of their lazy days, sprawled on the couch, watching _Sense 8_ on Netflix. Yuuri loved the series and was introducing it to Viktor, who had apparently gone hard over a particular sex scene in episode 6.

“What the hell?” Yuuri grumbled, feeling Viktor’s growing erection beneath him. “Viktor, that was practically an orgy.”

“That was practically porn,” he muttered.

“Are you a teenager or some—”

They were interrupted by a knock on the door. Viktor got up, almost excitedly, went to talk to whoever was behind it in Russian. Yuuri peered from where he was seated, but he couldn’t see past the door frame.

The next thing he knew, two men were carrying something—a _huge_ something boxed and covered in bubble wrap—into the apartment, they set the said package down, and had Viktor sign some papers. As soon as the men were out the door, Viktor looked to Yuuri and grinned.

Yuuri raised his eyebrows. “What’s that?”

“A TV.”

“We already have a TV.”

Viktor pouted. “It’s a _smart_ TV. It could access the internet and stuff? We could watch Netflix on it, too—”

“Viktor,” Yuuri put his face in his palm, rubbed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “Can I be honest with you?”

Viktor’s face suddenly changed, somewhat looking confused, but he nodded. This had been a long time coming. Yuuri was hoping Viktor would notice it somehow, waited for weeks until he did, but it never seemed to happen.

 _Time to spit it out_ , then.

“I know this is your apartment…”

“ _Our_ apartment.”

“Okay, it’s ours.” Yuuri took a deep breath, carefully choosing his words. “You’ve been buying a lot of things lately and you know that, right?”

Viktor nodded, face still blank.

“Some of them…well, some of them…we never really needed them,” Yuuri sighed. “I don’t like it when you keep buying things and then having to replace the ones who are in perfectly good condition.”

Had this been eight months ago, had this been the very beginning of their relationship, Yuuri wouldn’t even have the courage to say what he had just said to Viktor. Had this been Yuuri before Viktor came into his life, he wouldn’t be able to say what he truly felt to the person in front of him.

“Oh,” Viktor said after a while. “If it’s the money, we won’t have to worry. We’re winning competitions and I still have endorsements…”

“Vitya, I don’t care about you spending too much. It’s _your_ money, you can do whatever you want with it.” Yuuri sighed. “But we’ve been throwing out spoiled milk and the closet’s piling up with clothes that fit neither of us. Last week you bought a new microwave and a coffeemaker.”

Viktor was immediately in front of Yuuri, hands on the latter’s shoulders. “Did you want me to return it? I can do that. We could always say it’s defective.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said softly. Heart tightening from seeing Viktor’s genuinely guilty expression. “We could keep it. But promise me you’d have a little bit more restraint next time.”

“Okay, I can do that.” Viktor grinned, putting out his pinky.

Yuuri laughed and sealed the pinky promise.

“Uh, so…” Viktor cleared his throat, eyes looking up at the ceiling. “Wanna watch Netflix on the TV instead?”

Yuuri laughed, and despite having to feel guilty, he agreed.

-

Yuuri won his first gold in at the World Championships.

His inbox exploded with messages, several people were calling him and Viktor at the same time, sending their love and congratulations. Minako-sensei ran to both boys as soon as Yuuri stepped off the podium, enclosing them both in a glorious hug. She was crying all over their clothes, but they returned the embrace heartily.

Mari was in tears, pecking Yuuri’s check and hugging Viktor. Yurio, who came in second this time, pointed at Yuuri and said, “I’m beating your Free Skate record next season, loser”, or something like that. Though he didn’t sound too pleased at the podium, Yurio _did_ congratulate him at the banquet (albeit pushed into it by Otabek Altin), so that was nice.

Yuuri’s okaa-san and otou-saan called a bit later, just before the banquet. They told him to put the call on speaker so Viktor could hear them. They sent their love, telling Yuuri and Viktor to stay safe, and wished them luck on the upcoming competitions.

As soon as they were back at their hotel room in Shanghai, Yuuri crashed on the bed, mostly tired.

They stripped down to their boxers and lay side by side. Yuuri’s head on Viktor’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, memorizing it. Exhilaration felt good but it was draining. Viktor had also kissed him in front of the cameras for the second time at the awards ceremony, and his inbox was firing up with Phichit’s mostly gurgled texts, emojis, ‘ _!!!_ ’, and tweets.

 **#Viktuuri trending since ur make out session on camera** , one of the texts read.

Yuuri smiled. He’s been getting hate mail (a lot of them) in regards to his and Viktor’s very public relationship. People were calling them several different rude names in at least eleven languages. Yuuri wasn’t getting them anymore, but he suspected Viktor put up some filters or blocked several accounts to be rid of them.

He didn’t mind though. He got thousands of emails from queer teenagers from around the world telling him he and Viktor inspired them to never be ashamed, to love and let love.

A fifteen-year-old girl approached him and Viktor once, a snowy morning in St. Petersburg, and told them she came out to her parents when Viktor kissed Yuuri at the Cup of China. Handwritten fan mails from young boys sent both their love and gratitude to him and Viktor, wishing them well.

That was enough for him.

“ _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor whispered to Yuuri, fingers running through his hair. “Can I ask you something?”

“Okay,” Yuuri murmured back, almost absentmindedly, still engrossed with Phichit’s posts on Instagram. He was scrolling through several photos taken that night. Yuuri came across a picture of him, Viktor, and Yurio, and he smiled. He double tapped the photo, and a tiny heart appeared for a moment before it was gone again.

“Back when I first came to the Yu-topia, when I became your coach, I asked what you wanted me to be around you,” Viktor spoke with an almost sleepy tone. “And you said you wanted me to be myself.”

“Hmmm,” Yuuri hummed in agreement, urging him to go on.

“If I suddenly change one day,” he said. “What if I wake up and all of the sudden I stop feeling like myself?”

Yuuri stopped scrolling through his phone. He didn’t expect this sort question, not from Viktor. Yuuri didn’t know why, probably because he thought Viktor was just babbling close to sleepiness, but it didn’t feel right.

Yuuri turned the screen of his phone off and placed it on Viktor’s chest. “Why do you ask?”

“You said you loved me because you knew me as a person,” Viktor said. “Not as a crowd-pleasing public figure. To be honest, in retrospect, my fake smile did look horrendous…”

Yuuri laughed a little, fingers proceeding to draw circles on Viktor’s chest.

“Would you?”

“Hmmm?”

“Would you still love me then?”

“As long as you don’t start murdering my family, I won’t.”

Viktor laughed, although it sounded a little strained.

Upon hearing this, Yuuri raised his head and braced himself on his elbows.

He saw that Viktor had circles under his eyes, fair skin even paler than they were before. Between gym, practice, and coaching Yuuri, Viktor probably wasn’t getting enough rest.

His cheeks and collarbone were more prominent now, Yuuri noticed.

“You lost weight,” he said. _You’re overworking yourself._

“Told you, I get skinny fast if I didn’t eat a lot,” Viktor replied, almost a whisper, smiling as he poked at Yuuri’s nose.

Everything Viktor did was endearing, at least to Yuuri.

Yuuri loved the way his eyes crinkle when he smiled, when he hides his face when he said something embarrassing. Yuuri loved that Viktor walked around the house and constantly bumped into something when distracted, or that he prefers to eat with his hands when they’re in the apartment. Oh god, he loved him.

Yuuri slowly closed the gap between them, kissing each of Viktor's closed eyelids, the corner of his mouth, his neck. He trailed soft kisses down to his stomach, his navel, lower, until he reached the hem of Viktor’s boxers.

He hovered there for a while taking his time to look at Viktor, whose blue eyes were staring down at him, pupils blown. His breathing was starting to speed up, Yuuri noticed.

 _Good_ , he thought.

Yuuri dipped down, licking the length of Viktor’s cock through his boxers, Yuuri’s spit soaking the fabric. He heard the sound of a sharp intake of breath, Viktor suddenly trembling allover. Delighted by this response, Yuuri found the head of Viktor’s cock beneath the thin fabric, and sucked.

This time, Viktor moaned _._

“ _Yuu_ ri,” he whimpered.

“What?” He looked to him, feigning innocence the best he could.

“Why, you…” He tried flipping Yuuri unto his back, but was unsuccessful. Viktor ended up pinned to the mattress, Yuuri straddling him, and wrists pinned on each side of his head.

“I told you,” Yuuri leaned in, kissed him on the mouth, on the jaw, on the temple. “I’m in prime condition.”

Yuuri ground his hips down, feeling Viktor’s hardening erection beneath what little clothes they had. Viktor’s breathing become more erratic, hips responding to each and every touch.

_Not yet._

Yuuri busied himself by trailing kisses down Viktor’s neck, his collarbone, his chest. Pale skin reddening from the areas where Yuuri decided to mark. Lower, lower, down to his navel, where pale silvery hairs lined his skin. He tugged at the hem of the boxers, and slowly slid them down to Viktor’s knees. Viktor did the rest of the work by kicking the thing off like it violated him.

“I haven’t done much,” Yuuri commented, eyes blank. Staring at Viktor’s erection, now dripping with shinning pre-come.

Viktor didn’t utter a word. Instead, he _whined_. He probably knew that begging wasn’t going to do much right now. Not when Yuuri’s like this. Not when they’re playing the _game_.

Yuuri flicked his tongue out, and slowly, licked from the base of Viktor’s cock all the way to the tip. And as he got to the end of it, he took the swollen head of Viktor’s erection into his mouth.

Viktor tried to suppress a moan. It didn’t work. His voice came out loud and strained, followed by heavy breathing.

Yuuri was working with his tongue. Flicking and sucking and bobbing his head the way Viktor liked it. At first the noises Viktor made were nothing but whimpers, but they became louder and louder, moaning Yuuri’s name and several other curses in four different languages.

He rewarded Viktor by humming into his cock, the vibrations affecting Viktor enough that his legs were trembling moments after. Yuuri knew from his uneven breathing and from the force of which he clawed at the sheets that Viktor was close. So, so close. Viktor began to move, thrusting into Yuuri’s mouth, hips lifting off the mattress—

And Yuuri got up abruptly.

Viktor looked down at him in surprise, eyes bewildered.

Yuuri smirked at him, gaze never leaving his eyes, as he reached for the bottle on the night stand. Viktor swallowed.

With a click, the bottle opened. Yuuri made sure his fingers were thoroughly wet and slick. He bent down to trail kisses on Viktor’s perfectly shaped jawline, before he kissed him on the mouth. It was gentle at first, no more than soft, repeated pecks, but the kiss deepened, turned hot and bruising real fast. Viktor opened his mouth to him and Yuuri gladly flicked his tongue to the inside of his mouth.

Yuuri’s finger was probing at Viktor’s entrance. And slowly, as they kissed, he slid the first finger. Viktor gasped against Yuuri’s mouth, growing more desperate. He was rocking against Yuuri’s fingers, seeking more friction.

“Shhhh,” Yuuri whispered against his ear. “Let me do all the work.”

Viktor shivered as soon as Yuuri added another finger, the groan coming out of him deeper this time, louder. But Yuuri wasn’t rushing. They had all night.

“ _Yuu_ ri,” he muttered, voice almost a whimper. “P-please.”

In response, Yuuri angled his fingers so they drove straight to his prostate.

“Fuck,” Viktor threw his head back, heaving.

“I like it when you swear,” Yuuri breathes against his ear. “It’s so…” Slowly, he adds another finger. “Hot.”

Viktor was bracing himself on the headboard, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from his forehead. Yuuri continues to work his fingers some more, and as slowly as he could, slipped them out. He god rid of his boxers and slicked his cock generously with lube, enough that it dripped unto the white sheets, and adjusts himself between Viktor’s legs.

He kissed Viktor, deep and messy and bruising, and slowly pushed himself in.

Thank goodness the walls were soundproof.

Yuuri allowed Viktor to adjust around him. He pushed in slowly, waiting for Viktor to relax, until he bottomed out. They started at a slow pace, Yuuri was careful not to hurt him, but soon enough this doesn’t seem to be what Viktor wanted.

And Yuuri was going to give him what he wanted.

Yuuri’s thrusts came faster now, eliciting moans and curses. His own chest tightening from the look of Viktor writhing beneath him. He sat up a little, so he could see Viktor in all his obscene glory, flushed from the face down to his chest, red spots lined his skin, one hand clawing the sheets and the other bracing himself on the headboard.

Yuuri shifted his hips very slightly, just the right angle to nail Viktor’s prostate.

Viktor comes all over his stomach seconds later, white sputtering on his chest and dripping unto the sheets. Yuuri thrusts once, twice, and he was slumped over Viktor, his own orgasm turning his vision white.

They lay like that for god knows how long, Yuuri wasn’t sure. It took a while before Yuuri got up to get some washcloths in the bathroom and did the clean-up for the both of them. A few minutes later, they were back to laying side by side, fully naked now, Yuuri’s head on Viktor’s chest.

They were both drifting to sleep when Viktor’s phone rang.

“Vitya,” Yuuri nudged him.

Viktor simply wrapped his arms tighter around Yuuri, and mumbled. “Don’t want to.”

“If you’re not picking it up, I will.”

Viktor didn’t let go.

“It could be okaa-san.”

Sighing, he loosened his grip around Yuuri. “If it’s Chris, tell him it’s too goddamn late to invite us out.”

Yuuri felt for the phone on the night stand, saw that it was an unknown number, and handed it to Viktor.

Viktor stared at it for a moment, as if contemplating, then said, “they probably dialed it wrong.” He ended the call and handed the phone back to Yuuri, but before Yuuri could even put it back, the phone rang again.

“It’s an overseas call from Russia,” Yuuri noticed the area code. “Yakov?”

Viktor took the phone and answered the call, answered in hurried Russian too fast for Yuuri to catch, and ended the call. “I told you, wrong number.”

Yuuri shrugged and put the phone back in place. Viktor opened up his arms, warm and inviting, and Yuuri gladly obliged. Viktor’s scent was all around him again, and Yuuri couldn’t wish for anything more. Viktor reached up to Yuuri’s hair, absentmindedly stroking it. Yuuri wondered if Viktor’s even aware he’s doing it.

“You asked earlier,” Yuuri said, as they were both drifting to sleep. “If I’d still love you if you changed.”

The hand that was playing with Yuuri’s hair stopped for a moment. “Yeah?”

“To be honest, I don’t know,” Yuuri mused. “I’m certain one thing’s never going to change, though.”

“What’s that?”

“That I love you, and I love you enough to do whatever I can to knock some sense back into that thick head of yours.”

Viktor sighed. It sounded almost of relief, but Yuuri must have only imagined it. He began playing with Yuuri’s hair again, combing through the damp strands. “Me too,” he said.

“What?” Yuuri asked, although he didn’t look up.

“I love me too.”

Yuuri slapped him on the chest.

Viktor laughed. “Of course, I love you too. You already knew that.”

Yuuri hummed in agreement, groggy from exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I can't write decent smut for shit. Halp.**  
>  Also, the explicit warning implies that sad author often curses in the notes section too. ****  
>   
>  This could be half a chapter but I chose to break them up _according to cycle stages._  
>  Here are some definitions (if you want to read up on it), but they don't necessarily apply to everyone:  
> https://www.nimh.nih.gov/health/topics/bipolar-disorder/index.shtml
> 
> Viktor has Bipolar I (same as mine), but there are varying types.
> 
> **I offer the comments to the update gods! So leave some on your way out! :)**


	3. Candle Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Viktor breaks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just talk about what _I_ feel about this later.
> 
> I don't speak for all those with Bipolar I disorder. As always.
> 
> Triggers towards the end my lovelies. Though I didn't explicitly delve into it.
> 
> This was always meant to be told in Yuuri's perspective, so I stand by not changing POVs. Well, if that makes you feel any better.

Viktor is a candle flame.

He burns bright and flickers, light constant and sure, but also so easily consumed.

At first, Yuuri thought is was just the fatigue—Viktor was working too hard and rested too little that it all began to all come back to him in full force. All the coffee, Red Bull, and sex wasn’t keeping him steady as much as they did a few weeks prior.

As per their usual routine, Yuuri got up before the alarm went off, made coffee, and watched the news. He could mostly make out the headlines now (with the help of footages, of course) thanks to a few sessions in basic Russian communication.

Yuuri did that for a while, watching the silver wall clock from time to time.

It’s 7 a.m.

8.

9.

Makkachin was already scratching at the door to their bedroom, asking to be let out. Yuuri got up, rewarded by Makkachin’s happy panting as soon as he opened the door, and he bent down to scratch behind her ears. “Ohayo, Makka.”

Yuuri looked to Viktor, who was facing away from the door. His silver hair was rumpled, covered in their pale blue blankets, one arm slung around Yuuri’s pillow.

“Viktor,” Yuuri called out gently, but didn’t get a response.

Yuuri sighed. Figuring that Viktor needed the extra few minutes of sleep, he grabbed for his jacket and slipped on a loose pair of jeans. “Let’s go, Makka,” Yuuri called, Makkachin wagging her tail as she followed Yuuri out the door. “Let’s hope your papa’s awake when we get back.”

He figured they wouldn’t have the time to make breakfast that morning, so Yuuri dropped by the bakery on their way back, Makkachin waiting obediently outside the store.  
After paying for some fresh loaves, the lady on the counter stopped him momentarily to hand him something—which had been a bone-shaped dog treat, Yuuri realized.

“For your adorable companion,” she grinned. “Is she the same one Viktor’s been walking around?”

“Ah, yes,” Yuuri replied hesitantly. Viktor was well known in St. Petersburg enough that even his dog had become a familiar face. This didn’t mean they weren’t getting any odd looks when they walked hand in hand on the sidewalks, though, and Yuuri would gladly avoid anymore unwelcome attention.

The lady looked to Yuuri, a hint of recognition in her eyes. “My,” she mused. “You look prettier in person. No wonder Viktor Nikiforov chose you.”

Yuuri stammered in thanks, both for the compliment and the treat, and he walked outside with a slight smile.

He knew enough Russian to get by these days—enough to dine at cheaper, out-of-the-way restaurants, return morning greetings, and even haggle at the Sunday wet market. He’s also come to enjoy taking the buses whenever Viktor decided to extend his practices on weekdays.

Viktor usually frowned at the idea, saying he could always drop Yuuri off and then come back to the rink (they had a car for a reason), but Yuuri shrugged him off and told him it was fine.

Besides, it was nice hearing mundane conversations from people sitting near him. Yurio pointed out that his Russian was too formal and “textbook” once, so it sounded kind of weird. If he’s lucky, Yuuri would end up sitting beside a nice old lady and hold casual conversations with them.

He and Makkachin passed by an ice cream shop on their way back, which ended up with Makka giving him pleading dog eyes oddly similar to Viktor’s. Yuuri would’ve ignored it if she weren’t so cute (or if he wasn’t so weak, apparently).

Giving up, he bought her a cone, and led her to rest with him on a bench by the sidewalk a few blocks away from their apartment. Yuuri was watching Makkachin lick into the contents of her cone happily, when his phone buzzed.

**Might come visit with mom next week** , the text read.

Yuuri couldn’t help but smile. His new Russian rink mates were wonderful, truly, but Phichit was one of his closest friends (whom he also didn’t have as much time to talk to as he liked).

Of course, they Skyped, but they only went over the most important details of their lives—Yuuri’s engagement, Phichit’s hero’s welcome in Thailand, Yuuri’s move to Russia.

Yuuri missed Phichit’s musings on how the turkey sandwiches he brought from the cafeteria were not actually made with turkey (one time threatening he’ll sue for false advertistment) and his late night ramblings on what he found on his impulsive 2 a.m. convenience store runs.

He replied to Phichit excitedly, browsed through Yurio’s text about “Yakov will have Viktor’s head if he doesn’t arrive in thirty”, and quickly informed Viktor that he and Makkachin were on their way back.

_It’s going to be a great week_ , he thought.

Viktor was in the shower when they arrived. Yuuri knows this because, well, they didn’t bother to close the bathroom anymore (there didn’t seem to be a point in it now).

“Ohayo,” Viktor’s grinning face poked out of the pink shower curtain. Suds of bubbly shampoo dripped from his head to the tiled floor, some to his mouth. He tried spitting it out before he could have a taste, but he didn’t manage.

Yuuri laughed, asking Viktor if he had already packed. When Viktor said he hadn’t, Yuuri went to their room and decided to pack for both of them. He found their bags tucked neatly at the top shelf of their closet, set their bags of the bed, and retrieved some training clothes and gloves from the drawers.

He was about to pack Viktor’s skates when Yuuri noticed a wet mark on Viktor’s pillow. He checked to be sure, and it was damp. Viktor didn’t usually sweat when he slept, but Yuuri changed out the pillow cases anyway, along with the bedsheets and the blankets. The dirtied ones were thrown in the hamper, spilling with a week’s worth of unwashed clothes.

“What are you doing?” Viktor was behind him, towel-drying his wet hair, wearing nothing else.

“It’s about time to do the laundry, apparently.” Yuuri chided.

Viktor groaned. It was his turn to do it this week after all.

For all his shiny equipment kitchen and laundry equipment, Viktor can’t actually seem to take care of himself. One time, Yuuri found a lone sock underneath the kitchen counter. He didn’t know what to do with it, so he threw it in the hamper and hoped they found a similar one once they get to folding. They didn’t, so that one’s a goner.  
Yuuri didn’t know if he’s always been like this or had somehow developed some kind of dependency toward him—either way, he tried to remedy this by splitting the chores and at times, offer rewards if he had to.

With their gym bags slung over their shoulders, Yuuri checked if they both had their keys, and filled Makkachin’s food bowl.

Yuuri asked him a question, but Viktor didn’t respond.

“Viktor?” Yuuri asked.

Viktor snapped his head toward him quickly, and raised his eyebrows. “What was that?”

“I was asking if you have the car keys.”

“Oh! Um—” He dug through his jeans, and produced a jingling set of keys, complete with a poodle keychain. “Here.”

Yuuri sighed. “Are you sure you’re fine? We could always ask Yakov for a day off. You know, if you’re—”

Viktor closed the space between them, enclosing Yuuri in a gentle embrace. It didn’t seem like there was need for it, Viktor usually shut him up by lifting his chin and calming him down. This had been new. “Nothing I can’t sleep off, _Zolotse_.”

-

Sleeping it off was what Viktor did the whole of the following Saturday.

Yuuri left him a note on the bedside table in simple Cyrilic (praying it made sense before hesitantly leaving it) and walked Makkachin again. He was accompanying Makkachin all week, so he didn’t mind the new change in routine.

They walked for a few blocks down south when his phone buzzed.

“Ohayo, Yuuri!” His _okaa-san_ ’s melodic voice came through his phone. Though Yuuri hadn’t seen her in months, he could almost picture out the smile that went with her cheerful voice. Oh god, he missed her.

“ _Okaa-san_!” He greeted back, grin spreading across his face.

He could hear his _otou-san_ and Mari in the background, shouting their greetings and sending their love.

“How’s Russia these days?” his _okaa-san_ asked.

“Cold,” he frowned, Yuuri hurrying a little bit to keep up with Makkachin. “Viktor says he misses your cooking.”

“Does he?” She laughed from over the other line. “I sent you some recipes, didn’t I? You both should try it sometime.”

“Yes, but it’s hard to find some good rice,” Yuuri muttered. “How’s the onsen?”

They talked for a while, Yuuri hurrying after Makkachin as she found a secluded place to do her business. Tourists had apparently been visiting the onsen more, Minako-sensei finally complaining about having too many students (some starting a lot older than Yuuri had), and more children were finally starting to skate in the Ice Castle.

“Yuuko-chan had to find a resident instructor to be there on Saturdays,” his okaa-san said. “The kids are wondering when you’ll come visit.”  
Yuuri suspected that it wasn’t the kids who wanted him home.

“I missed you guys,” Yuuri said with a smile. “If I get assigned at the NHK Trophy, we’ll be sure to drop by. Maybe fly to Japan days prior to the competition.”

“That would be wonderful!” His okaa-san practically sung over the phone. “Oh, what do you know? We’ve got more costumers! I’ll call you tomorrow?”

He sent his and Viktor’s love, and his _okaa-san_  did the same. Makkachin was looking at Yuuri expectantly, having already finished doing her business.

Yuuri was already on his way back to the apartment when he remembered something, (well, more like came up with an idea), and he opened up the notes on his phone. He looked to the direction of the supermarket, considered it, and began walking.

“Let’s go, Makka,” he said. “Let’s surprise papa when he wakes up.”

-

Yuuri was chopping onions and watching the afternoon Russian drama when Viktor came out of the room.

He wore sweaters lately, saying he was a bit cold. Yuuri had been so worried about this he went on a pharmacy run to restock cold meds without even waiting for Viktor to finish. Viktor had laughed, of course, said he was fine.

“Ohayo,” he walked out, rubbing his eyes. “Is that?”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Yuuri smiled, perpetually checking his phone for the instructions. “I’ve never really done this before. So who knows, the rice might end up turning into porridge.”

Viktor pulled a tall chair and sat at the dining table, watching Yuuri’s hands work with the onions. Yuuri said something while he was turning the stove on, and Viktor hummed in agreement.

Yuuri turned to see him looking out to the window, eyes hazy. He’s been doing a lot of that lately, like he was either perpetually distracted or silently drifting off to sleep.  
One time at practice, Yuuri was doing some spins. When he asked Viktor about it, Viktor had only blinked, and sputtered a vague comment about form or something like that. Seeing Yuuri’s face, Viktor asked him to run it again, and this time, he was able to give out a more detailed critique on the technical stuff.

“Viktor.”

“Yes?” He turned his again, confused, as if hearing Yuuri for the first time since he sat on the table.

“I forgot to tell you, Phichit is coming next week.”

“Okay.”

“Let’s go out to lunch with him.”

“Sure thing.”

Yuuri sighed. He’s seen Viktor wear that white and blue striped sweater before. Had it been anyone else, they would have thought that it was just baggy, but it hung around his body like it was a size too big for him, his collarbone protruding.

_You’re losing a lot of weight_.

“Viktor,” he sighed, reaching out to Viktor to check his temperature.

Viktor caught his hand before it reached his face. “Yuuri.”

“I was just—”

“You’re worried, I know.” He kissed Yuuri’s ring finger, gold band glinting in the sunlight. “I’m not sick, okay? Yakov’s a slave driver, that’s all.”

Yuuri smiled, heart melting like it had always been. His heart melted for Viktor Nikiforov, always has and always would, even from just his skating. Even if he wasn’t engaged to him.

“Now,” Viktor got up from his chair, kissing Yuuri on the lips lightly, almost hesitantly. “How long before I get to dig into that katsudon?”

Yuuri sniggered, almost mischievously. “After you get rid of that morning breath.”

Viktor wailed.

-

For the first time, in all of Yuuri’s life, he watched Viktor took a bad landing.

It wasn’t even a quad, he wasn’t even practicing his routine, it was a simple triple axel he attempted during warm-up.

Yuuri never remembered having kicked the ice so hard before, propelling himself forward as fast as he could, almost barrelling into Yurio when he wasn’t able to stop fast enough.

“ _Gomen_ ,” he said quickly, not even noticing that he had apologized to him in Japanese. He’ll do that later. For now, he resorted to dropping to his knees, not minding the cold that bit through the fabric of his pants. “Are you—are you okay?”

All the skaters were looking to Viktor with concern, although they all seemed polite enough (or had been too shocked) not too come near them.

Yuuri took Viktor by the chin, lifted his face, and searched for any cuts or injuries. “Viktor.”

Viktor, looking shocked at first, came to his senses and smiled up at Yuuri. “I’m okay. Really, Yuu—”

A thin, strip of blood dripped from his mouth.

For a while, Yuuri’s hand shook, not knowing what to do. Viktor just looked confused.

Yurio, thank god for him, went to the opposite side of Viktor and growled at Yuuri. “We need to get him off the ice, baka.”

At this, Yuuri nodded almost automatically, slinging Viktor’s arm over his shoulder. With the help of Yurio, they were able to bring a protesting Viktor to the edge of the rink, put his skate guards in and dragged him into the changing rooms.

They had him sit on one of the benches in the locker room. Yurio stormed out soon after, demanding they don’t move until he’s back.

There was silence after that.

Yuuri could do nothing more than just stare, which he resented himself for. He should be the one thinking up of a way to take care of Viktor, of a way to take care of him as Viktor did to Yuuri, but he was still so overcome with shock and his chest was tightening.

He felt the blood rushing to his ears real fast, his hearing suddenly overcome with the sound of his own heart thumping like they would break out of his ribcage.

Yuuri felt someone tug at his sleeves, and he snapped out of it.

“Yuuri,” Viktor looked up to him, eyes worried. “I just bit my tongue, okay? Nothing to worry about.”

_I should be the one giving you assurance._ Yuuri shook his head. “Sorry.”

He went to Viktor’s locker, retrieved his bag, and went digging for a washcloth he packed that morning. As soon as he found it, he went to the bathroom to quickly soak it with water, and went back to clean up the blood that had dripped down to Viktor’s shirt. Not that any of that helped.

Yurio came back soon after, holding what looked to be a tray of ice cubes, which he shoved into Yuuri’s hands. “Here,” he said. “Yakov says the geezer can go home for today. Make sure his head’s checked out.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my head,” Viktor replied almost immediately, his voice flat.

Yuuri managed to pry out a few ice cubes and popped one into Viktor’s mouth. “He’s right. Let’s just have you checked for concussions. It won’t take that long,” he said. “Besides, the clinic’s nearby we could just—”

“Yuuri, I’m fine.” He said, his voice final.

“Psh, you stubborn geezer.” Yurio muttered. “Just do what the katsudon says before he starts searching Dr. Google and assume you have a skull fracture.”

And with that, he walked out, his rubber skate guards making odd noises against the floor.

Yuuri knelt in front of Viktor and began untying his laces.

“Yuuri,” Viktor caught his hand.

Yuuri looked up to him, and saw that his face looked annoyed. “I was just—”

“I know,” he said. “Yuuri, I’m not a child. I can unlace my own skates.”

Yuuri looked down, his face hot—it if was of embarrassment or slight anger, he didn’t know. He snatched his hand away from Viktor’s and got up. “I’m packing.”

Realizing what he must have sounded like, Viktor quickly reached for Yuuri’s sleeve again. “I’m sorry, Yuuri. I didn’t mean that.”

Yuuri looked to him to a moment, eyes trailing the darkening bags under Viktor’s eyes, and sighed. “I’m going to pack.”

-

Yuuri went on to grab dinner with Phichit by himself.

After the incident involving Viktor’s bad fall, Yuuri had to practically drag Viktor to the clinic, stealing the car keys away from him when they got to the parking lot.

“Do you even have an international licence?” Viktor had asked.

“No,” Yuuri replied defiantly. “But it’s better than you having a possible untreated concussion.”

They fought as soon as they arrived at the apartment.

When the doctor didn’t find anything wrong with him, Viktor had repeatedly rubbed it in that he’s told Yuuri so. Yuuri responded that he was just worried. Viktor stormed into their bedroom to avoid the conversation. Yuuri grabbed his sleeve and turned him around, demanding Viktor told him what was wrong.

Perhaps he shouldn’t have.

Viktor chose to sleep on the couch that night, and in the morning, when it was time for practice, he was still asleep. Yuuri didn’t wake him for fear that it might stir up some heated encounter again, so he walked Makkachin, made coffe, and left Viktor a note saying he’ll go on ahead.

When Yuuri texted Viktor about lunch, he was only responded with a “I don’t feel good today”.

Yuuri took it as a “I don’t feel like talking to you yet”.

“Yuuri,” Phichit waved a hand in front of Yuuri’s face, his smoothie halfway finished in front of him.

“I’m sorry, what was that again?”

“You’ve been zoning out again,” Phichit sighed.

Yuuri apologized, deeply. It was the first time since he and Phichit had a decent meet up and months and Yuuri wasn’t even giving him his full attention.

“You know, I don’t mean to pry but—” Phichit said, cleared his throat, almost sounding hesitant. “Yuuri, I’m your best friend, right?”

Yuuri nodded.

“I wasn’t really offended that Viktor couldn’t come, and it seemed fine because you told me he wasn’t feeling well,” Phichit waved his hands, obviously awkward. “But that’s not all of it, isn’t it?”

Yuuri sighed deeply, rubbing his eyes. _What would I do without you, Phichit._ “You got me.”

Phichit smiled, although still hesitant. “Hey, I’m happy for you. You’re like my OTP. If you two aren’t end game, I’d probably stop believing in love completely.”

This brought Yuuri’s deepening anxiousness down for a little bit. Phichit always knew the right words to tell him. So often, that Yuuri wonders if half of them are true at all. “Thank you,” he said. “A little misunderstanding, that’s all. Viktor did sleep on the couch.”

“ _On the couch_?”

Yuuri nodded.

“Daaaaaaamn,” Phichit mused. “I didn’t know you had him tied around your little finger like that.”

“Phichit!”

“I’m joking, I’m joking,” he grinned. “Anyway, if you needed some relationship advisor-slash-guru for the mean time, I’m available. Not that you’ll need it, but you know.

Yuuri smirked. “I’m assuming its consultation by appointment?”

“By appointment, yes.” Phichit laughed. “Also available for counselling through Skype every Saturdays and Mondays.”

-

When Yuuri arrived, Viktor was no longer asleep or on the couch. He was in the bathroom, looking through the drawers and cabinets.

Yuuri walked toward him hesitantly, a bag of take-out in his hand.

Viktor seemed to notice his approach, and looked up from the drawers. He had, if only small, a smile on his face. “Ohayo.”

“Konnichiwa,” Yuuri greeted back. “I got you lunch.”

“Thank you,” Viktor smiled, eyes still on the drawer.

“What are you looking for?”

There was a pause, but only momentarily, before Viktor replied. “I’m looking for cold meds.”

Yuuri blinked. “It’s in front of you.”

Viktor seemed to look surprised for a moment, before he reached into the cabinet in front of him and smiled. He waved the little bottle, pills jiggling. “Ah, not used to this one.”

No one spoke for a moment, silence enveloping the bathroom for an excruciatingly long time.

“I’m sorry,” they both said at the same time.

They looked to each other.

That was all it took for Yuuri to drop the bag and jump into Viktor’s arms, surprising the both of them. “I’m sorry,” Yuuri repeatedly murmured unto Viktor’s shoulder, his eyes starting to sting with tears. “I shouldn’t have—I didn’t know what I was thinking.”

Viktor broke the embrace, just momentarily, only to lift Yuuri’s chin and look into his eyes. “No, no. I shouldn’t have reacted like that. Maybe I did take a bad fall. I didn’t know what got into me.”

They embraced once more, tears dangerously threatening to fall from Yuuri’s eyes. “I love you.”

“I know,” Viktor murmured. “I know, _Zolotse_. I know.”

They stayed like that for a while, Yuuri happily smelling Viktor’s familiar scent, chest finally light and fuzzy with relief. Viktor broke the silence, whispering, “Is Phichit still available for lunch this Saturday?”

-

Apparently, Phichit couldn’t come to lunch but he did propose dinner.

So Yuuri went after his language lessons, Viktor picking him up and headed straight for the restaurant.

“You didn’t go with Mila today?” Yuri asked.

“Nope,” Viktor said. “To be honest, her strength trainer is a bit of an overkill. As much as I don’t want to admit it, I might be having old-man backaches. I’ve had enough slaving the day away from Yakov.”

“I bet Yurio would’ve loved it if I recorded you saying that.”

“Don’t you _dare_.”

"I don't think you needed the strength training though," Yuuri said, almost cautiously. "I mean, I know you're just doing this as part of prep for next season, but you're doing fine."

Viktor looked to him momentarily, when the stopped for a red light, and winked. "Am I?"

"Viktor!"

"No but really, " his eyes went back to the road. "Now that it's out of the way, we could finally start incorporating the jumps into you routine."

Yuuri didn't know why, it wasn't that he wasn't paying attention, but he looked to Viktor and whispered, " _Okaa-san_ says she misses us both."

Viktor's eyes lit up for a moment, expression almost tender, and then he chuckled. "We could come visit them one of these days," he said. "Maybe a week off, don't you think? Besides, I like the rink in Hasetsu better."

"I was continually reminded by Yakov to bring him your head if you even remotely suggested that."

He shrugged, almost expecting Yuuri to say that. "Or the weekends, at least. Since we're not doing much on Saturdays."

Yuuri hummed, he felt a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “So, you’ll make dinner next time? On Saturday?”

Viktor blinked. “We’ll ready the fire insurance, then.”

-

Yuuri was still laughing when they parked the car a few blocks away from the restaurant. It was full that day, like most establishments that served drinks on Saturdays. Phichit waved a hand and grinned at them as soon as they walked in, his eyes lighting up.

Viktor let Yuuri order for them, saying that it was time he showed Phichit how far he’s come with reading Cyrilic, although Viktor happily supplying some he misread or mispronounced.

“Wow, I heard the rumours, but—” Phichit waved his hand at them. “I didn’t know Viktor paraded you like this. It’s more intense in person.”

“Of course!” Viktor flipped his hair. “Yuuri’s been taking the bus lately, and _haggles_ with the fishermen. Can you believe that?”

“You’re just not used to haggling, that’s all.” Yuuri muttered. "I bet you don't even notice it when they're over-charging you."

"Oh, dear me." Phichit threw up his hands. "I've been away only eight months.  _Eight months_. And now my best friend is suffering from overly-lovey-dovey domesticity. I can't."

"I heard Seung-Gil's single," Yuuri looked to Phichit, expression almost teasing.

"Ugh," Phichit put his face in his hands. "Don't even start." He looked over to Viktor. "Tell him not to start."

Viktor raised his hands. "I'm sad to inform you that Yuuri Katsuki often does what he wants. I thought you've gotten used to it by now."

Dinner eventually turned to a night of rum and champagne (rum for Viktor, champagne for Phichit, and none for Yuuri), Phichit and Yuuri chatting loudly now, while Viktor listened.

It wasn’t that Viktor excluded himself during conversations like this (he did talk about some instagram-related videos with Phichit) but he had reminded Yuuri in the car earlier that night that it was Phichit’s night. Yuuri missed him, of course, and was thankful that Viktor understood that.

“So, what’s brewing next season?” Phichit asked, his cheeks reddening.

Yuuri sputtered something like “just watch out”, while Viktor contemplated for a minute, finger on his lips.

“I’m not sure yet,” he said.

Had he been joking or not, Yuuri wasn’t sure, but he corrected him anyway. “Not true,” he said, fingers slipping into Viktor’s. “He’s been working with Yakov all this time. He wouldn’t even show me his routine.”

“Oooooh,” Phichit raised his eyebrows. “That’s not fair. You know Yuuri’s routine by now.”

“Yes, but that’s because I’m his coach,” Viktor shrugged. “Besides, if I may quote my fiancé, _you can watch out._ ”

Yuuri, overcome with embarrassment, buried his face in his hands.

And for the rest of the night, they laughed.

-

It was two in the morning when they arrived at the apartment, Viktor slurring in slight tipsiness. Yuuri, in his vow of sobriety (although Phichit did insist), was the one who drove home.

They offered to drop Phichit off to his hotel, which was nearby, but he waved them away and said, winking, “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Yuuri dropped Viktor on the bed, and without thinking, reached for the hem of his sweater and tugged.

Yuuri didn’t notice it at first, but as soon as his eyes were able to adjust, he fell into deep silence. Viktor, who was once happily smiling as Yuuri was hauling him into the bed, was staring back in horror.

There were red, angry scars on Viktor’s wrists. Some healing, some very, very new. They went all the way up to his forearms, his stomach, and oh dear god Yuuri can’t breathe.

“Give me the shirt,” Viktor simply uttered, voice deep and flat, eyes cold.

Yuuri clutched at the shirt. “Viktor...”

Viktor stood, eyes still blank and intimidating, looming over Yuuri as he looked down, snatched the shirt away from Yuuri’s hands. He turned away to slip it on, put his hands on his hips, and looked down at his feet.

Yuuri couldn’t see his expression. He wished he did. Is he okay? Of course, he’s not okay, he looked extremely upset. And why, for the love of him, didn’t Yuuri notice sooner? Why did he shrug of the wet stains on Viktor’s pillow when they were so clearly tears?

Why was he so terrible at taking care of Viktor when Viktor’s done nothing but take care of him?

“I’m going to need a shower,” Viktor walks for the bedroom door, eyes not looking at Yuuri.

Yuuri reached for his sleeve, more from instinct that actual intention, and then he sputtered, “Viktor...t-tell me. I—”

“It’s nothing,” he turned away again, wrangling his sleeves from Yuuri’s hand.

“Viktor.”

“ _What do you want_?” Viktor looked at him, eyes flashing with fury.

Yuuri almost stepped away. Almost. He wished he had. “You can’t walk away from me like this, Viktor Nikiforov, don’t you _dare_ —”

“Or what?” Viktor replied defiantly, eyes burning, cheeks flushed. Yuuri’s never seen Viktor like this before. “Or what, Yuuri? Are you going to leave me? Just like _them_? Or are you just going to come back afterwards when you feel like it?”

Yuuri’s heart stopped, his vision was blurring. “I—”

“Go! Go tell me you want a ticket back to Japan. It’s not too late for an early flight is it?”

Yuuri didn’t know what came over him, what _pushed_ him. All he knew was that he found himself walking up to Viktor, feet unsure, and slapped him across the face.

The sound of the slap echoed across the room, the force causing Viktor to step back. Yuuri’s heart was rushing, both from anger and the fact that he had just hurt Viktor.

Why did he hurt Viktor?

“If that’s what you think of me,” Yuuri said, voice almost a whisper. “Then why? Why would I propose to you? Why would I leave my family, my town, and my friends for you? Is that what I am to you, Vitya? _Temporary_?”

_Why am I saying this? Why am I doing this to him?_

“For good luck, huh,” Viktor stared at the ring on his finger, and slipped it off.

It was, if it were possible to still be alive, as if Yuuri’s heart stopped.

The next thing he knew, he was out the door even before he heard the ring clatter to the ground.

-

“Yuuri? What are you? What the hell?!” Phichit was staring at Yuuri, eyes wide, in front of his hotel room.

Yuuri was soaked all over from the rain, shivering from the cold, eyes hot and probably red from crying. His feet were hurting from running so far and so fast, lungs were frozen and overworked, and he was just about ready to sink to the ground when Phichit caught his shoulders and ushered him in.

Phichit went about, fidgeting, hands shaking. He was running to and fro, turning up the heater and grabbing some towels and spare clothes. He also ordered some tea, slammed the door in front of the hotel staff’s face as soon as it was delivered, and shoved the steaming cup into Yuuri’s hands.

After all that was done and the panic had resided, Phichit stood in front of him, not knowing where to look.

“I’m not going to ask,” Phichit said. “You can stay here for the night, I have jammies—”

“Actually, I have to get back,” Yuuri announced almost immediately, tears coming back to his eyes.

“What?” Phichit looked at him like Yuuri was an idiot. _Well, I am_.

_Why am I here again?_

“I need to get back.”

“Yuuri, you are not in the right condition to do that right now.” Phichit frowned, eyes panicked and worried nonetheless.

“I just,” he looked down into his steaming cup of tea, the heat soaking comfortingly into his hands. “I shouldn’t—I shouldn’t have left like that. Viktor needs me.”

“Yuuri—”

“Phichit, please.”

Phichit put his hands to his face, silent for a very long moment, and sighed. “Okay, but let me get you a cab. And please change into something—” He waved his hands. “I have some clothes. And take my coat.”

“But...”

“No buts, Katsuki Yuuri.” Phichit’s tone was final—and knowing him, there was no reasoning his way out of it. “Call me when anything happens. I’ll be awake.”

-

Yuuri was staring out of the cab window on his way back.

Covered in mostly Phichit’s clothes, he was warm enough, so the shiver didn’t come from the cold. It was still pouring, though. It had started to rain the moment he stepped outside of their apartment, but Yuuri was too much of an idiot to even slightly consider his actions.

He had also left his phone in the apartment in his rush to leave. He wished he had it, so he could text Viktor he’s sorry, and that he’s fine now, and that he didn’t mean to leave.

Dear goodness, what’s gotten into him? Why did he leave Viktor when he knew he shouldn’t have? When Viktor needed him more than ever?

He had some spare change in his pocket, as well as his keys. He paid the cab, tipped, and went up to their apartment floor.

Yuuri’s hands were shaking very slightly when he slipped his key into the door.

The apartment was, well, silent—save for the sound of running water coming from the bathroom.

Yuuri sighed. So Viktor didn’t leave, then. Thank goodness.

Makkachin was in the room, whining.

Yuuri patted her head. “I’m sorry, Makka,” he whispered. “Papa and I just had a disagreement, that’s all.”

He found his phone on the night stand, and found several texts. From Viktor.

**Yuuri, I’m sorry.**

**I didn’t know what I was thinking, please come back.**

**I’m sorry.**

He scrolled down several ones, mostly apologies and _I love you_ s, and then he stopped.

**Goodbye.**

Yuuri ran for the bathroom, found that it wasn’t locked, pushed it as hard as he could, and gasped in horror.

The mirror was broken, most certainly from a fist, blood dripping from the frame to the sink. On the floor, was Viktor, his right hand bloodied.

He was unconscious.

And beside him, was his phone, and an empty bottle of pills.

Yuuri rushed to him, heart exploding, vision darkening. He knelt beside him, panting, not knowing what to do— _goddammit do something!_

Phone in hand, he dialled a number, it could be anyone—someone— _please help._

Tears were dripping from Yuuri’s eyes. He bit his lip, so not to scream, and hard enough to draw blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Swallows Ecitalopram, Dapakote, and Quetiepine. (Yes, I'm allergic to both Lithium and Lamotrigine dammit)
> 
> Also, my laptop officially _took a shit_. RIP, old sodier. So I'm writing this from a tab + crappy bluetooth keyboard. Hence, I'm not really sure how many words there are in here and I'm slightly fucking pissed. Bye.
> 
> I also really don't know how this went, but tell me how it did for you. :)


	4. Grounded Meteorite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yuuri faces challenges.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, let me just come out right here and say I'm an unapologetic sap.
> 
> Also, several triggers down there, loves.
> 
> As per usual, I do not speak for all those with Bipolar Disorder. It's different for everyone.

Viktor is a grounded meteorite.

One robbed of his glorious flames, breaking everything in it’s path, including itself.

Yuuri was crying. Why was he crying? He shouldn’t be the one doing this. He’s not the one in the emergency room right now, nor was he the one who was left alone at the most vulnerable time in his life.

He was not the one suffering.

He hardly remembered what had happened in between opening the bathroom door to him rushing into the white tiles of the nearby hospital.

Panic.

Images of Viktor on the floor, his hands dripping red, mouth beginning to foam.

Yuuri had picked up his phone hurriedly, dialling the emergency number with trembling hands, and practically shouted over the phone in hurried, inelegant Russian. He gave them their address, what floor, what door number.

They told him what to do, so Yuuri sat Viktor up and stuck his fingers into Viktor’s mouth.

Fear.

Images of Viktor puking, though eyes still hazy.

“Viktor! Can you hear me, Vitya? Vitya, please.”

More images. More apologies. More I love yous.

Viktor didn’t hear any of them.

“Vitya, I’m sorry,” he whimpered. “Wake up, Vitya. Stay with me, please.”

Help arrived soon after.

All else seemed to blur after that.

Viktor being carried as hurriedly as they could, the lights of the ambulance, the medics fussing over Viktor as Yuuri sat by his side, crying. The emergency vehicle at full speed.

His vision had been a combination of harsh red lights and bland fluorescents. The smell of antiseptic in the air. The creak of a passing wheel chair. Lab coats, white and spotless.

Vitya’s bloodied hand.

_Why am I crying?_

-

“Yuuri,” Phichit sat beside him, still in his pyjamas. He had a large coat over his shoulders, steaming cup of coffee in his hand. That’s right, Yuuri had called Phichit a few minutes ago, out of panic or in the hopes of seeking comfort—though he didn’t remember it all that much, too. “Did you hear that?”

“What?”

Phichit sighed. “The doctor was here moments ago,” he waved at the empty space beside him. “She said he’s fine. Yuuri, Viktor’s fine.”

Yuuri didn’t realize that he had slumped over, hands covering his eyes, until Phichit was hugging him. This provided a comforting warmth, though it did absolutely nothing to soothe him.

“Yuuri,” he said. “You came back, didn’t you? If you had listened to me, he wouldn’t be here right now. It’s not your fault.”

“Of course it is!” Yuuri jerked to face him suddenly, and regretted doing so as soon as hurt flashed in Phichit’s eyes. He bowed his head very slightly, out of embarrassment and guilt, voice almost a whisper, “Of course it is.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit sighed, face now blank.

_Oh, no. Not you too._

_Hurting Viktor was enough._

_Not you too._

“I’m sor—”

“Stop apologizing,” Phichit said, but not without gentleness. “That’s not what Viktor needs right now. What he needs is for you to stop crying out here, thinking it’s your fault. What you need to do is be there when he wakes up so he knows you’re here and you’re not leaving.”

“But—”

“No buts, Katsuki Yuuri,” Phichit put a hand on his shoulder, shaking him slightly, as if it would knock some sense into him . “If you keep on insisting it’s your fault, if you keep showing him how much this affected you, what do you think he’s going to feel?”

 _A lot worse_.

“A lot worse,” Phichit echoed Yuuri's thoughts.

Before Yuuri could get up, a thundering voice came from the other side of the lobby. “Where is he? What did he do?”

Yuuri looked up to him in surprise. “Yurio?”

Right, the news might have already reached social media by now. An ambulance right in front of Viktor Nikiforov’s apartment complex wasn’t exactly the kind of thing anyone would shrug off.

“What happened, katsudon? What did the bastard do now?” The volume of Yurio’s voice came even louder, ignoring the looks he was getting and ignoring Phichit . He turned to Yuuri, eyes forming into slits. “What did _you_ do?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa...” Phichit jumped to Yuuri’s defence, but Yuuri put a hand to his shoulder, and asked him to step aside.

“We fought.” Yuuri said simply, struggling to keep his voice steady. “It was an ugly fight. I stormed out and came back—”

“You stormed out? You left him?”

Yuuri recoiled. “Yes. But I didn’t mean to, he was shouting—”

“That is not an excuse, you moron!”

This had been enough for Phichit. He practically charged into Yurio, child abuse laws be damned, but Yuuri was quick enough to pull Phichit by his coat. The tug had enough force to send Phichit staggering back a few feet.

“Phichit,” Yuuri pleaded. “This is not helping.”

“You know what’s not helping? This little brat shouting obscenities like an uncivilized _twat_.”

“What did you just call me, you asshole?”

“You meant me calling you a twat or a brat? Which one?”

Yuuri had to practically stand in between them then, making sure none of them bit each other’s necks off.

“Yurio,” Yuuri looked to the other, voice calm. “How did you know? How did you know we were here?”

“Because I knew from the moment there was a fucking ambulance in front of your apartment that it had to be Viktor.”

When Yuuri looked confused, Yurio put a hand to his head, brushing his hair away in frustration. “Haven’t you noticed it yet? Viktor’s depressed. Big time.” He threw his hands up. “He gets episodes like this, and when he’s down he shouldn’t be left alone. At all.”

“What?”

“Is he off meds?”

Yuuri blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”

“Oh, goddammit,” Yurio cursed. “The bastard probably stopped taking medication since he was happy all this time. He probably thought that now he’s happy, the cycling’s going to stop. He’s Bipolar, katsudon. Always have been. You shouldn’t have left him.”

_Oh dear god._

“I—”

Yuuri’s reply was cut off short by a nurse who approached them. She stopped halfway to her approach, sensing the tension in the air. The three of them just stared at her for a long moment, not knowing exactly what to do.

“Yes?” Phichit asked finally.

“Are you Viktor Nikiforov’s family?”

Phichit put his hand on Yuuri’s shoulder. “This is his fiancé.”

The nurse nodded. “He’s awake. Would you like to see him?”

“Y-yes,” Yuuri replied, almost hesitantly.

“This way, please.”

Yurio started to walk alongside Yuuri, when Phichit pulled him away. Yuuri worriedly looked back at them, but they didn’t seem to be at each other’s throats anymore.

Phichit noticed Yuuri looking, and waved. “You go on ahead,” he said, eyes sliding to Yuuri with a hint of warning. “We’ll go grab something to eat first.”

And with that, Yuuri turned and hurried after the nurse.

-

Viktor’s eyes were open slightly.

There was an I.V. hanging over him, his hand now devoid of red and wrapped in bandages. The cuts on his wrists and arms were now exposed, red pelts vicious under the harsh white light. Without his sweaters, it was obvious how thin Viktor had become in the last two weeks.

He’s lost this much weight in a short time and Yuuri wasn’t even able to notice.

Viktor’s eyes drifted to Yuuri, and he smiled.

Yuuri flew across the room, sinking to his knees beside the bed, head bowing so low so he wouldn’t have to look Viktor in the eye. The room was silent, save for Yuuri’s whimpering, his sobs filling the white room.

His breath was leaving him, his heart was pounding so fast, and his arms and legs were shaking horribly.

Viktor ran his fingers through Yuuri’s hair, very gently.

Yuuri sobbed even louder, releasing every single pent up emotion that he had miraculously manage to bury inside him that night. He didn’t know where they came from—self-hate, fear for Viktor’s life, relief that Viktor was safe and awake and goodness he was alive. His Viktor was alive.

“Please stop that, _Zolotse_ ,” Viktor said softly, almost murmuring unintelligibly. “If I keep seeing you like that, it makes me sad.”

 _I always make you sad_.

“Don’t you do that ever again, Viktor Nikiforov,” he wailed into the white sheets, tears dripping in copious amounts, his fingers clutching at the pristine fabric. “You—you scared me, Vitya. I don’t know what to do without you. I don’t know what I _am_ without you. So please...”

“Yuuri...”

“So please, Vitya.” Yuuri looked to him, cheeks wet with tears. “Live for me. For a little while longer.”

A single stream of tear ran down Viktor’s cheek.

His blue eyes wide with longing and regret, he cupped Yuuri’s face. He ran his thumb underneath Yuuri’s eyes, wiping away his tears. “I’m so sorry, Yuuri. You didn’t have to see that—you didn’t have to see me like that,” he said. “We were so happy. I don’t know what’s gotten into my head. I can’t control the thoughts they’re just—” Viktor took a deep breath, lips and fingers shivering, and closed his eyes. “I am happy when I’m with you, truly.”

Yuuri got up to plant a kiss on his forehead, swift and gentle. “I know.”

“I was terrible last night.”

“So was I.”

“And I’d understand if you don’t want me anymore.”

Daggers tore through Yuuri’s heart. “What do you mean?”

“After what I did, after you’ve seen that, it must have been horrible for you. _Okaa-san_ will be furious—”

“How,” Yuuri’s voice raised slightly, more from the frustration rather than anger. “How many times, Viktor? How many times do I have to tell you I’ll never leave you?”

“Everyone leaves,” Viktor said simply.

Yuuri put his face into his palms, tears threatening to fall again.

He stood. “I’ll go get some coffee.”

But Viktor didn’t stop him. Viktor didn’t even look at him. So Yuuri left the room, feeling heavier than he had ever been.

-

 

 

 

> **Viktor Nikiforov rushed to the hospital from rumoured suicide attempt**
> 
> Nearby onlookers have reported to have seen Russian star figure skater, Viktor Nikiforov, carried into an ambulance and rushed to a nearby hospital in St. Petersburg this Sunday, 4 a.m.  
>  Nikiforov, age 28, is bound to be married to boyfriend and fellow skater Yuuri Katsuki this upcoming Spring. Exposed to the limelight at the tender age of eleven, Nikiforov has so far avoided any scandals throughout his career. Described to have always been brutally honest with the press, he has never been known to be secretive in regards to his personal life.
> 
> Fans speculate that the decision to coach his now long-time boyfriend and continue his competitive figur skating career at the same time had apparently caused unnecessary stress, leading to the Russian skater’s supposed breakdown. Rumours of drug abuse have been circling worldwide social media and several fans have expressed their deepest worries...[continue reading]

-

Phichit jumped as he turned to see Yuuri behind him, the cup of coffee now a mess on the floor. Yuuri had come back from the vending machine when Phichit was browsing through the news, not meaning for Yuuri to see, but Yuuri had accidentally read the article over his shoulder.

“Oh my god, Yuuri. I’m so sorry. You didn’t need to see that!” Phichit’s eyes widened, hands trembling again, getting up so fast and apologizing to Yuuri repeatedly.

“It’s okay,” Yuuri whispered.

“What do you mean “it’s okay”?” Yurio looked to him, eyes still fierce. “They think he’s a drug addict.”

“They think I’m stressing him out,” Yuuri put his face in his hands, sitting down. He wanted the ground to swallow him whole, to consume him. Viktor didn’t need more worries in his life and Yuuri was adding to them. “I think I’m stressing him out.”

“Shut up, katsudon.” Yurio sneered. “This isn’t about you. Viktor’s going to feel shitty if he heard you saying that.”

Yuuri was trying hard not to cry again, but maybe he had used up all his tears by now. “But Yurio, I noticed,” he rubbed his face. “I noticed he was losing a lot of weight. I noticed he was zoning out, irritable, unmotivated. I noticed and didn’t do something.”

He waited for the scolding, waited for the chaos to ensue. It never came.

Yurio sighed and slumped back into the chair. “We noticed, too.” He waved a hand in the air, eyes wandering up to the ceiling. “We thought he had it under control, though. We thought he was still on mood stabilizers and had regular visits to his therapist so we shrugged it off.”

Yuuri felt Phichit put a hand to his shoulder, squeezing.

“Knowing how he is, he probably said something to you that hurt. It’s not his fault, but I couldn’t blame you if you’ve stormed off.” Yurio muttered the last few words, mostly to himself, “I’m sorry about yelling at you.”

“Does his coach—does Yakov know?” Phichit asked Yurio, hand still slung protectively around Yuuri’s shoulders.

“Yes,” Yurio replied shortly after. “About what happened this time, not yet. I’ll give you to option to deliver the news to him yourself or leave it to me.”

“Please tell him,” Yuuri pleaded.

“You got it, katsudon.”

-

The three of them sat there in silence for a very long time.

Yuuri wanted to go back to the room and hug Viktor again, he wanted to tell him that everything was fine, but he couldn’t make himself do it. Viktor was different that day, he was both cold and sad and guilty, and Yuuri isn’t sure if he’d be able to control himself from either snapping back at him or crying until his lungs gave out—both options weren’t good for either of them, so he took his time.

Phichit was calling his mom over the phone and Yurio was busying himself with a Youtube video, when a shadow loomed in front of Yuuri.

“Are you Yuuri Katsuki?” The woman in front of Yuuri asked, her voice sputtering in strained Russian.

She was beautiful. In every way. Her eyes were the colour of grey mist, face thin and angular, cheeks pale and almost white. Her hair, Yuuri realized, was silver and beautiful like Viktor’s.

Yuuri stared up at her, astounded. “Um, y-yes.”

“I’m Viktor’s mother,” she said simply, her eye grave. “Katerina Nikiforov.”

Yuuri couldn’t read the expression on her face. Was she angry? Relieved? What he knew for sure was that she’d never be happy in a situation like this. Not when her son’s just attempted to kill himself and his useless choice of a man to marry was grovelling selfishly out in the hallway.

He got to his feet as fast as he could manage, hands trembling slightly. He stuck his hand out to her, “It’s...it’s nice to meet you,” he said. “I’m his fiancé.”

“I already know that,” she said, almost cutting Yuuri off.

“Oi,” Yurio had looked up from his phone, eyes trailed on Katerina, noticing the woman for the first time. He looked—well, if this wasn’t Yurio, it would have been more surprising—but he looked angry. Like Katerina had somehow done something to him.

Not that Yurio didn’t look like that all the time.

The nurse who approached Yuuri earlier that night came toward them again, carrying what looked to be a clipboard. “Mister Katsuki.”

Yuuri peeled his eyes away from Katerina. It was hard. “Yes?”

“There’s something we need to consult you in regards to Mister Nikiforov’s condition.”

“Alright,” Yuuri stepped away immediately, walking toward the nurse.

“I want to hear this, too.” Viktor’s mother said, almost abruptly.

The nurse shook her head. “Family only, ma’am.”

“I’m his mother,” Katerina said, slight venom in her tone.

“No, she’s not.” Yurio muttered from behind them, pointing at the silver-haired woman next to Yuuri. “You haven’t even shown up in ages, you hag.”

 _Shit_.

“Yurio,” Yuuri looked to him, voice almost pleading. “It’s alright.”

Yuuri glared down at Yurio, who didn’t seem like he was ever going to back down.

Katerina ignored the tension in the air altogether, like she wasn’t the cause of it to begin with. Instead, she looked to the nurse (who looked rather uncomfortable), and asked, “What is it?”

The nurse ushered them to a corner. Yuuri tried hard not to brush against Katerina accidentally, as if he would combust at the touch of her. He was trying hard, as if it were possible, to make himself small. He didn’t know why, but every time Katerina looked straight at him, he felt an almost automatic instinct to physically recoil.

The nurse cleared her throat. “I’m sure you are aware of the events that transpired with Mister Nikiforov this evening—”

“You haven’t told me yet.”

The nurse looked to Yuuri hesitantly, waiting for Yuuri to nod at her, before she faced Katerina again and explained. “Mister Nikiforov’s been suffering from Bipolar I Disorder for a long time, and he’s cycled back down to his depressive state of late,” the nurse said, her face blank. “The doctors recommend an admission to the Psychiatric Ward.”

An admission? Does that mean Viktor’s going to be sent to the hospital and stay there, on his own? Viktor can’t even take care of himself. He’ll just probably sleep all day. Will he get his morning walks? Would he able to see Makkachin?

“Alright,” Katerina said, almost unaware of Yuuri beside her.

_What?_

“Hold on,” Yuuri sputtered, unsure of himself. “Admission? Can’t he stay at home with supervision? I can watch over him—”

“Clearly, you weren’t doing enough of it.”

Yuuri looked to Katerina, her eyes not looking up at him, but they were cold as ice. He tried ignoring this, looking to the nurse. “I’ll hold unto his medication, make sure he’s visiting his doctors, and we’ll get a proper therapist.”

“It’s just a recommendation, Mister Katsuki. You can do as you please, but it’s his mother’s decision on this one.”

“Viktor’s not underage,” Yuuri tried.

The nurse sighed, almost looking sorry. “He’s also not in the right mind set to make decisions for himself at the moment, Mister Katsuki.”

Yuuri looked to Katerina, heart in his throat, voice almost pleading. “Please,” he said, almost whispering. “Don’t do this. He’s going to hate it. He’s going to hate the both of us.”

“I do not care if Vitya hates me or not, he already does,” she replied, quite bluntly. “What I want is what’s best for him. I’m his mother and I know this.”

Yuuri looked to the nurse. “Please give us a moment.”

She nodded, almost of relief, and skittered away.

They were standing there in silence when Yuuri realized he hadn’t exactly thought this through.

Yes, he wanted to speak to Katerina in private, but to what was he going to do next? He didn’t even know her, never even seen her face before the last ten minutes, and now he was expecting to talk her out of her made-up mind?

Yuuri knew Viktor hated his parents, but Yuuri had thought it was a old wound that had closed up long ago. It apparently wasn’t, and for all Yuuri knew, that wound still might have been bleeding all this time.

He thought Viktor had been happy.

“Were you the one trying to reach Viktor’s phone?” Yuuri asked, although he didn’t know why he started with that.

She looked to him, gravely. “Yes, though I’m not sure why it is any of your business.”

“What concerns Viktor is my business,” Yuuri spat.

_Stop. You sounded rude._

“Don’t act all high and mighty speaking to me like that, you wretched boy,” she frowned. “I’d give it two years, three. You’re probably going to end up looking for someone else. Someone sane.”

“Oh? Is that why you left him? Because he wasn’t sane?”

The next thing Yuuri knew, he was staggering backwards, his cheek reddening from the slap to his face. This caused several heads to turn toward their direction, curious. He could see Yurio rushing toward them, eyes murderous, but Phichit was holding him back. Despite so, Phichit wasn’t able to stop Yurio from yelling, “What do you think you’re doing, you ugly bitch!”

_Well, fuck._

“I don’t know what it is that you want from my son, young man, but Vitya is not the kind of person anyone wanted to marry in the first place—if I was being honest.” She had fierce eyes, Yuuri noticed, unlike the gentle ones that belonged to Viktor. “But right now, he needs to be admitted. Right now, the doctors know what to do better than either of us.”

“You may not know this,” Yuuri said, his voice shaking horribly, and his face was beginning to throb. _Don't stop now. Tell her how you feel. Isn't that what Viktor always told you?_ “I’m not sure how long you’ve been with him or if it even matters now. I admit I haven’t been in Viktor’s life for as long as you might have been, but I planned to marry him neither for his fame or money or his face. Maybe Viktor was crazy when he agreed to marry me, but I would never do the same thing you did to him.”

Katerina’s eyes flashed with surprise, but Yuuri was undaunted.

“I swore to take responsibility for him and for the both of us, and I’m not walking away from that,” Yuuri said. “I will not stop you. I can’t. I won’t tell him. But know that if you do what you’re planning to do, Viktor will know about it and he’s never going to speak to you again.”

“Who do you think—”

“I’m going to be your son’s husband very soon. I would like it if you showed up at the wedding, truly.” He kept his voice steady, his breathing, his mind. Yuuri stared into her eyes—if it was for the purpose of pleading or to show ferocity, he wasn’t sure. “But if you’re going to make him hate you more than he already does, my family’s waiting for him in Japan. They adore him. Eventually, maybe in a few years, he won’t miss you much.”

Yuuri turned on his heel and made his way to a yelling Yurio, whom Yuuri tried his best to pacify.

“What did that old bag say? What did she want?” Yuuri sneered.

Yuuri shook his head. “The doctor’s are recommending a full admission to the Psychiatric Ward,” he informed them, Yurio and Phichit’s eyes opening wide. “We’re not married yet, so I don’t exactly have a say in it.”

“Bullshit,” Yurio snapped. Although this hadn’t been meant for him, Yuuri still winced. “He’s living with you, katsudon. You’re practically married if there wasn’t any need for papers.”

Phichit rubbed his palms together. “Can’t you try to talk to the doctors personally? I’m sure there’s something they could do about it.”

“I tried talking to uh—” Yuuri waved toward the general direction of where Katerina had been. She was nowhere to be found. “I was trying to ask her not to. I’m not sure any of it helped though.”

Suddenly, there was shouting and clattering coming from Viktor’s room.

Yuuri bounded for it immediately and threw the door open as quickly as he can.

Katerina was standing at one corner, her hand covering her lips, looking almost pitiful. Two of the hospital staff in green scrubs were trying to restrain Viktor, holding him by his forearms, Viktor straining and shouting and fighting against them.

“What are you doing to him?!” Yuuri shouted across the room, but the only one who seemed to have heard him was Viktor.

Viktor looked up, blue eyes glazed with fear. “Yuuri, _Zolotse_. Don’t let them take me away...Please.” Viktor’s eyes trailed from Yuuri to Katerina, then back to Yuuri. “Oh my god, did you call her? How could you? You knew I didn’t want to see her. You knew what it did to me—”

“Vitya, I—” Yuuri huffed. But it was no use, anger was already flaring up in his chest, losing all the control he had managed to muster. He threw himself at Katerina, his hands firm on her shoulder, shaking her violently. “Can’t you see he doesn’t want it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop them!” He faced the men holding Viktor. He charged at them. “Let my fiancé go!”

But Yuuri was already being restrained by another male nurse, telling him to calm down.

And so,  Yuuri could only watch.

He watched as they injected clear fluid into one of Viktor’s arms.

A second passed.

Two.

Three.

Viktor drifted away, his eyes closing, a single tear running down his pale cheek.

All the blood was rushing to Yuuri’s head. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t see anything—anyone—else. No one but Viktor, now limp on the hospital bed.

Yuuri’s vision darkened, heart running a hundred miles per hour. Suddenly, he was slumped to the floor, his fingers were shaking, and he was crying.

-

Everything else started to blur again after that.

The silver of Viktor’s hair, the white walls, the green scrubs the nurses were wearing.

Sounds, sounds were blending together. Yuuri’s mind was racing too fast for his senses even catch up.

The door opened.

“Step aside!”

Was that Phichit? He didn’t know anymore.

“Move! Can’t you see he’s having a panic attack?!”

Yuuri covered his ears, eyes focusing on the blurry images of the white tiles. There’s a buzzing sound in his ears, then static. Black spots were beginning to form in his vision.

“What’s this? What did you do now?!”

Yurio.

Phichit was holding him. Oh god, _Phichit_.

“Yuuri, breathe...”

That’s exactly what Yuuri was doing. He was doing too much of it, to be honest. His lungs were straining, he could hear his own blood rushing through his veins, he could he hear the creak of the hospital bed as it was being rolled off toward the door.

_Oh no, Viktor._

_Give him back, please._

“Hey! Where are you taking him? Get back here you motherfucker!”

“Yuuri, we need to leave.”

What? Why? Viktor was still here. Yuuri can’t leave him, Yuuri can’t just abandon Viktor—

But Yuuri was already being hauled to his feet, Phichit’s arm protectively slung around his shoulder, allowing Yuuri to lean on him.

“Let me sort this out,” Phichit whispered, voice blank and angry, but otherwise steady.

-

Yuuri sat on his bed.

His and Viktor’s bed, he reminded himself.

_It was only temporary. He’ll be back._

Makkachin was on his lap, whining and licking Yuuri’s face, as if sensing Yuuri was upset. He cried into Makkachin’s fur—for how long, he didn’t exactly know. Phichit was busy in the kitchen, making some tea. Phichit had planned to let Yuuri stay in his hotel room for the night (or morning), but the hotel rules on pets weren’t exactly generous and Yuuri didn’t want to leave Makka behind.

_I’ve already left your papa behind, Makkachin._

Yurio had apparently chosen to go home alone, Phichit informed him. It was already bright outside when they got out of the hospital, so Yurio waved them off when Phichit had offered to drop him home.

“Yuuri,” Phichit stood at the doorway, still in his frumpy pyjamas, coat now gone. He had a steaming cup of Camomile tea, Yuuri noticed. “Here.”

Phichit walked inside, almost tiptoeing toward Yuuri, and set the cup on the nightstand. He then proceeded to wave at the empty space at the foot of the bed. “May I sit?”

Yuuri nodded.

They didn’t speak after that. Phichit was only looking at him—observing him—with concern. It was a long time ago when Phichit took care of Yuuri. He had been happy in Detroit, but that didn’t mean the panic attacks didn’t come to him.

He and Viktor were so happy these past few months. He didn’t get the vicious attacks anymore, though he still sweats with worry sometimes. Viktor was always there when the anxiousness looms, he’ll say the right words and it would disappear.

Had Viktor been happy too?

“How long?” Yuuri asked.

Phichit raised his head, eyes filled with worry.

“How long before I can visit him?”

“Two weeks.”

“How long before he can be discharged?”

“I don’t know.”

Yuuri looked down to Makkachin again. His heart wasn’t racing anymore, nor he could feel the blood running underneath his skin.

He felt empty.

“He hates me, Phichit.”

“Yuuri,” Phichit reached out, but Yuuri instantly recoiled. Looking hurt, Phichit pulled his outstretched hand away and sighed. “He’s—He’s just confused. And probably angry at himself.”

“I shouldn’t have ran away like that. I should’ve done something.” Yuuri pulled Makkachin closer, allowing her to lick small, wet kisses on his tear-stained cheeks. “I should have turned back sooner.”

Phichit put his face in his hands, sighing deeply. He’s been doing that around Yuuri a lot more lately.

“I’ll be on the couch,” Phichit got up slowly, brushing a none-existent dirt on his pyjama pants. “Keep the door open, okay?”

Yuuri knew exactly what this implied.

But it’s okay. It’s Phichit.

It’s okay.

Everything's going to be okay.

-

Phichit stayed with Yuuri the whole time he was there, texting his mom he was staying with a friend he hasn’t seen in a long time. Yuuri protested against this, considering how much Phichit had been paying for his hotel room (which had now turned into a closet where he left his clothes and nothing more).

Yuuri wanted to bring Phichit to the rink once, but Yuuri didn’t know if he could stand looking at the place without remembering Viktor. He’d probably fall to his knees and break down as soon as he sees the ice, so it’d be a bad idea.

He doesn’t remember the ice without Viktor in it, after all.

Yuuri was also getting several texts of concern, mostly from his and Viktor’s Russian rink mates, some from his family, Yuuko and the triplets.

The other international ice skaters Viktor and Yuuri came to know didn’t send him texts, even out of worry. They must have figured it wasn’t their business anyway, so maybe they were hesitant. Viktor’s attempted suicide and admission to the psych ward hadn’t been published in the news yet, but only in gossip websites and ridiculous tabloids.

_Leave us alone, goddammit._

Only Christophe asked about it, but Yuuri had only replied with, “can’t talk about it right now, but thank you”.

Sometimes, he takes Phichit sightseeing, although the both of them seemed far too distracted for it (Yuuri perpetually sad and Phichit always worried), so they usually went home early with take-out bags for dinner.

Yurio came  to visit from time to time, mostly after practice, bringing some CDs or games they ended up playing for the whole day. Yuuri’s usually the one to excuse himself first, go to his room, and cried before he slept.

_One week. One more week._

-

Yuuri announced he was taking a break that season.

Phichit, Yakov, andd Yurio tried talking him out of it, but it was no use. Katsuki Yuuri had made up his mind.

When asked if it was related to the incident pertaining Viktor, he had to hold back tears when he told the press, “No, just something to do with artistic changes. Experimental stuff, to be honest.”

The press gave him odd looks.

He tried again. Smiling, he said, “Anyway, I have a wedding to prepare, so why not take the season off?”

He’s not even sure if the wedding’s still happening.

-

“I’m so sorry, Yuuri,” Phichit said one Saturday. “I’d really want to stay longer, but Ciao Ciao’s been worried.”

Phichit's flight was tonight, Yuuri remembered. He hadn’t been keeping track of time all the much lately. It was as if the days were mocking him, taking longer for them to come and go than he needed them to be.

Yuuri tried for a soft smile. “I finally get to see Viktor tomorrow, so I wouldn’t worry about that.”

“Okay, but call me tomorrow as soon as you get home,” Phichit hugged him tightly, patted his back. “I don’t care how late or early it’s gonna be in Thailand. Just call.”

“But Phichit—”

“No buts, Katsuki Yuuri,” he pulled away and smiled. “Send my love to Viktor as well.”

-

His  _okaa-san_ called that night.

"Yuuri! Minako-senpai told me you were taking a break! What happened?"

Yuuri didn't know how much of the news had reached his family yet, but there was no way he was going to make them worry for him like that. "Viktor's had an injury and needed to undergo surgery,  _okaa-san_ ," he said, the lie itself toxic in his own mouth. "I wanted to take care of him."

"Is Vicchan okay? Is he doing fine? What happened?" His  _okaa-san_ was shooting questions from each and every direction.

Yuuri winced. "No, he just took a bad landing and had to get his ankle checked," he whispered over the phone. "He insisted I continue with the next season, but I wanted to take care of him."

That one, at least, wasn't entirely a lie.

"Okay, you boys take care now," she hummed through the phone. "We love and miss you both."

"We love you too,  _okaa-san_."

-

Yuuri was waiting in the courtyard, the Autumn breeze slightly biting into his jacket. He hoped Viktor’s coat was thick enough.

The hospital had asked him to send over some of Viktor’s clothes. Yuuri remembered to have been crying as he shoved Viktor’s sweaters into a small black duffel, a few pairs of sweat pants and underwear, gloves, his brown trench coat, and finally throwing in his poodle tissue holder so it’s the first thing Viktor sees.

He had looked at Makkachin and smiled, "So he wouldn't miss you too much, Makka."

This was the longest time they’ve ever been apart so far.

He had grown so used to waking up to Viktor’s morning kisses that he almost assumed every morning was a nightmare in the past two weeks.

“Yuuri,” a familiar voice called.

Yuuri looked up from where he was slumped over, and met Viktor’s blue eyes from across the yard.

Viktor was wearing his trench coat alright. He almost looked the same as when Yuuri ran to him from the ice toward the kiss and cry, except that now, Viktor wasn’t smiling.

His posture was taut, almost uncomfortable, bags underneath his eyes more prominent than before. He looked even thinner now that Yuuri’s seen him last, but his face was beautiful as the first time they met, and his hair was still glinting silver under the morning sun.

And oh dear god, Yuuri loved him. Broken and beautiful, loud and surprising, flaws and all.

Yuuri ran to him, almost barrelling into Viktor as he threw his arms around his neck.

“I am so sorry,” Yuuri was sniffling into Viktor’s coat. “I tried to stop them. I tried to take you back. I can’t—I shouldn’t have—”

Viktor put a hand on Yuuri’s hair, caressing it softly. He buried his nose into the crook of Yuuri’s neck, and inhaled. “I missed you. I miss the scent of you. I miss the feel of you, Yuuri Katsuki.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too.”

Yuuri pulled him closer, kissing his temple with outmost gentleness. “I love you.”

“I know, _Zolotse_. I know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, um.
> 
> You're welcome?


	5. Kaleidoscope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, this is short, but I don't want to force anything so have it. (:
> 
> Absolutely no triggers unless fluff makes your nose bleed.

Viktor is a kaleidoscope.

He’s different in each and every direction, in each and every way the light changes, and in each and every way he turns to.

“Shouldn’t the news have reached him by now?” Phichit asked, eyes visibly drooping on the screen of Yuuri’s laptop. Yuuri should probably tell him to go sleep, that it was fine, but Yuuri wasn’t fine. “It’s all over the national news. I mean, not the _national_ news but some tabloid or some crap has probably glossed it over by now.”

“Somehow, that makes me feel a lot worse.”

Phichit pursed his lips. “You know what I mean. If he knows about it and you didn’t say anything about it, some things are going to turn for the worse.”

Yuuri leaned back against the pillow propped behind him, Makkachin shifting along with the sudden movement. “They don’t have a T.V.” He paused, but only to shake his head. “Sorry, I’m making it sound like a prison. But yeah, they have a recreation room and stuff but no T.V.”

“Huh, that’s weird,” Phichit huffed. “Are they like, stuffing you in a time capsule or something? I’d feel better if I was aware what kind of new traffic laws I’ll be getting myself into or something.”

Yuuri snorted. “Stop talking like you actually abide by traffic rules.”

“Okay, fine. I run thirty when I should only be going twenty. Big deal.” Phichit yawned. “Anyway, don’t change the subject. It’s been three freaking weeks, my friend. Viktor’s probably worried about it by now.”

“He’s going to think I’m giving up,” Yuuri muttered. “Or think it’s his fault I took the season off. Seemed like a lose-lose situation if you ask me.”

“Then why did you decide to go through with it?”

“Because,” Yuuri groaned.

“Because? Because you’d be worried you’ll remember skating without Viktor this season and you’ll lose your shit? Yuuri—”

“Exactly.”

Phichit slammed his face into his bed. “That didn’t go so well, didn’t it?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, let me try again.” Phichit raised his head, eyes wandering around the room for a moment, thinking. “I know you. You are worried you’ll lose your shit, that’s a fact by now. But Viktor isn’t going to be happy about this and neither will you if you found out about his reaction to it. Go compete, Yuuri. Even if you lose.”

Yuuri removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes sore. “Yes, but I don’t think that’s going to make any of us feel better.”

“Well, maybe,” Phichit shrugged. “But maybe you’ll do well and Viktor’s going to feel better. You do skate for Viktor, don’t you? He doesn’t have to be there sitting as your coach, you idiot. Go step into that rink and compete, win that shit, and tell Viktor that there’s three golds left to go.”

Yuuri smiled. “If I did, would you hold back?”

“Of course not,” Phichit snorted. “You’ll hate me forever so it’s not really something I’d try. I’m telling you to try to win, but this doesn’t mean I’m not in for it, too.” Yuuri saw a grin forming on Phichit’s face, a winning battle in his hands. “And besides, Viktor wouldn’t mind if you only won a silver, would he?”

-

If you asked Yuuri three weeks ago how he felt about Viktor being in a mental ward, he’ll probably tell you that he’s absolutely devastated. Maybe even cry a little. Or just turn away and have another panic attack in the bathroom.

But now, seeing him again, lounging by the afternoon sun in the hospital courtyard, his answer would be different.

Was he still sad about it? Yes.

Was he still blaming himself? Sometimes.

But Viktor looked fine now, if not, maybe just a tad bit better. He’s not as thin as he was a few weeks past, the dark circles under his eyes were fading, and his scars have scabbed over.

Viktor looked to him, eyes open and relieved, wearing grey sweatpants and a black shirt under his trenchcoat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” Yuuri smiled. He made his way into the garden, hovered beside Viktor for a while, before he sat next to him on the grass. His hand found Viktor’s and intertwined their fingers together. “What did you do this week?”

“Group therapy session,” Viktor said immediately. “I still don’t like Katja, but you know.”

Yuuri hummed. “Surprise, surprise.”

“Hey, she doesn’t like me either so I guess it isn’t unreasonable. It’s not like I’m Yurio.”

Yuuri laughed, squeezing Viktor’s hand in his. “What did you talk about?”

There was a very long pause. Yuuri looked to Viktor and saw the other gazing at him, his blue eyes soft. “I talked about you.”

“Oh?” Yuuri raised his eyebrows.

“Yeah,” Viktor smiled fondly, as if memories were rushing back to him. “I might have made a few others jealous of me. I better not introduce you to them, or I’ll be fighting people off every time the nurse says I have a visitor.”

Yuuri felt his cheeks burn. It was almost like listening to the usual Viktor, one that he had learned to love all this time, and he was thankful he was able to pull through. He kissed Viktor’s pale cheek softly. “Yeah, but I worry one of them is going to take you away,” Yuuri teased. “So remember, Nikiforov, if you end up running away with this Katja girl, she is so done.”

“And me?”

“I’ll flush you down the toilet.”

“It’s going to have to be a very large toilet.”

“Yes, but I know a manufacturer in Tokyo who makes weird things. One time, he was interviewed while he worked on a special order for a hundred-square-feet Jacuzzi that vibrated.”

Viktor laughed. He’s at his most beautiful when he laughed. This lasted for only moment, and then his features softened, slightly guilty. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

Yuuri blinked. “When?”

“When they were transferring me to the psych ward,” he said. “That must have been horrible for you—”

“Viktor.”

“I’ve hurt you enough. I might hurt you again.”

“ _Viktor_.”

“But I will try the best of my ability to be better for you, so you wouldn’t have to be hurt again. I can’t imagine hurting you again, _Zolotse_.” He whispered to Yuuri, his head on the other’s shoulder. “For whatever it’s worth, I’m sorry. And I will take care of you. And I will be better for you.”

Yuuri embraced Viktor, his face hidden at the crook of his neck, breathing him in. “Yes, thank you. Yes, you’re forgiven. But promise me something?”

“What’s that?”

“Allow me to take care of you too.”

-

Yakov is a slave driver. Worse than Viktor had been. Worse than Minako-sensei on a bad day.

He was both unforgiving and unrelenting, more than any training instructor had ever been to Yuuri.

It’s been a week since Yuuri casually asked Mila about deadlines for next season’s competition. Mila heard this, freaked out in delight, told Yurio about it, and chaos ensued. Yuuri was just lounging around his living room when Yurio barged in like the little shit he is and demanded Yuuri to submit his name to the ISU.

Yuuri had only stared at him with surprise, but before he could even say anything, Yurio informed him that he’s already _demanded_ that Yakov coach in Viktor’s behalf and had apparently announced Yuuri’s decision to keep competing this season over twitter and Instagram.

So that had also explained why Phichit texted, **See you!**

So there was Yuuri, skating to a program he already knew by heart, listening to Yakov’s lectures on getting used to Viktor’s tendency to go easy on him, while his whole body was protesting from the weeks it had desiccated from the lack of exercise.

But that’s okay.

He was taking gold this season.

He was taking gold for Viktor Nikiforov, marry the shit out of him, and have him kiss the medal once he’s been welcomed home from the hospital.

“Yuuri, you’re distracted again!” Yakov shouted from over the edge of the rink, his greying eyebrows furrowed.

Yuuri sighed, stretched, and asked his temporary coach to start the music again.

-

“Katsuki-san, do you mind telling us your theme for this season’s Grand Prix series?” A reporter asked him during the press conference, after Yuuri had just won gold the Japanese Nationals.

Yuuri smiled to himself. He’d thought about this for a while. “Broken and Beautiful.”

-

He was in Moscow.

Yuuri was nervously tapping the table of an out-of-the-way cafe, thinking about his life choices, when the door of the establishment opened. He watched as Katerina Nikiforov, her hair messily tied behind her head (but nevertheless graceful and gorgeous), walk toward where he was seated.

He stood to greet her so quickly he knees hit the table, put out his hand, and was surprised that she took it.

“I’m sorry for whatever happened in St. Petersburg,” Yuuri blurted out as soon as they were seated. He didn’t know exactly how to begin, but he thought he might as well start with an apology, considering the circumstances.

She looked to him, watchful, grey eyes surveying him. When she was done doing that, she closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m sorry, too,” she said, her voice soft, lacking the venom it once had the first time they met. “It must have been for Vitya’s good, what you did, but you must understand that I didn’t know you—so I don’t really trust you yet.”

“It’s alright,” he said, fidgeting with the mug of half-finished coffee. “I was lacking sleep and all, but I really shouldn’t have said what I had. You were right, he’s doing fine now after being admitted to the ward. If I had forced things, I’m not sure how it might have ended.”

There was silence for a moment, and then, Katerina leaned back into the chair with a sigh, her eyes trailed down Yuuri’s shaking hand.

She was looking at his gold ring, Yuuri noticed.

“I figured you must know that Vitya had a horrible father. We’re divorced now, so that bastard’s irrelevant.” Katerina waved her hand dismissively, although her face looked sour. “You know how Vitya was when he was younger, right? Long hair, nail polish.”

Yuuri can’t even begin to explain how he knew this and more since he was twelve, so he chose to stay silent and let her speak.

“At first we thought it was the kind of thing young people did, you know? Some kind of rock and roll thing coming back from the eighties or something,” she huffed, taking a deep breath, almost out of need. “But eventually his father found out about—I meant, I found out and told him that—well, our son being gay.”

 _Oh_.

“The air inside the household shifted immediately after that. My ex-husband was...was beating Vitya constantly. And I just watched. Divorced people are no good, they said, so I didn’t bother intervening.”

Yuuri felt a bit angry, just a little, but he had worked on his nerves on the ride to Moscow. He reminded himself to keep an open mind. No matter what he heard, no matter what Katerina said, he would listen.

“So yes, Vitya doesn’t particularly have a concept of a family to begin with and I’m definitely at fault,” she said, iron grey eyes distant. “So if he sees you as family, Yuuri Katsuki, I’m sure you must have done nothing but good things to him, and for that, I must admit I’m thankful.”

Yuuri let out a sigh of relief.

“T—thank you,” Yuuri said, almost astounded as to how this conversation went. He almost expected to be slapped again, to be honest. “Your son has done nothing but wonderful things for me, too. And I would not do anything otherwise.”

Surprisingly, even if it was just a little, Katerina smiled. And when she did, she had even turned more beautiful than she Yuuri had ever seen her before.

_It must run in the family._

“When’s the wedding?” She asked suddenly, gesturing toward Yuuri’s right hand.

“Next Spring,” Yuuri replied. “We’re still debating whether it’d be in Japan or Russia, though.” And hesitantly, he added, “You’re still invited.”

He smile faded, eyes distant again. “I’m not sure Vitya wants me to come. You’ve seen how he reacted toward me, and I’m not about to ruin what could be the happiest moment of his life. I don’t know what it’s worth but I can give him that as a away to atone for myself.”

Yuuri looked down, almost saddened by this, but Katerina cleared her throat and added, “I may not be able to attend the wedding, but know I am happy for you, and I approve of it.” She reached over the tabled and took Yuuri’s hand in hers. Her palms were cold and sweating, nervous. “Maybe one day, we can sort out the mess we’re in, and I hope you’d still be willing to invite me to a grandchild’s birthday or anything alike.”

Yuuri couldn’t help but feel the warmth spreading in his chest.

There’s still hate in Viktor’s heart, Yuuri knew, but he hoped it healed one day—and until then, Yuuri will be there to see it through.

-

It was the Grand Prix Finals and Yuuri was having a breakdown in one of the bathroom stalls.

“Yuuri, come on we talked about this,” Phichit was knocking on the door for a while now. Yakov had been there too, but he left a few minutes ago, because he had to see to Yurio as well. “You’re coming in last and it’ll be your turn as soon as Chris is done.”

Yuuri wasn’t hearing any of this. Tears were falling down his cheeks, his shoulders shaking, skin sweating beneath the royal blue costume Viktor had chosen for him.

“Yuuri, open the door, please.” Phichit pleaded.

He could hear the crowd cheer from the toilet bowl he was seated.

Yurio was done, so it was Chris’ turn to skate now.

_Oh, god. I can’t do it. I can’t. I’m so pathetic._

Phichit was sighing audibly. “Yuuri—”

His voice was drowned out by the slamming of the bathroom door. The sound of skate guards squeaked against the tiled floor, and then, there was a very loud banging on the door to the bathroom stall. “Oi, katsudon!

 _Yurio_.

“If you’re not coming out of there, I will personally slice your neck open with your own skates, you hear me?”

Yuuri took a deep breath, willed himself to stand, and unlatched the lock.

It opened with a bang, almost hitting Yuuri in the face, the hinges protesting. It revealed Yurio’s scowling face, still in his costume, sweating and heaving from his Free Skate. Behind him was Pihichit, who looked—well, he looked almost proud, the little shit.

Yurio grabbed Yuuri by the collar of his jacket, and yanked down none too gently. “If you ever— _ever_ cop out or fuck up because you lost your shit and disappoint Nikiforov, I will skin you, fry it till crispy, and feed it to Makkachin.” Yurio drawled. “Viktor has suffered so much, put up with your shit, did everything he can so you could get here, so you have absolutely no fucking reason to curl up like a kicked puppy.”

_Well, shit._

He was being talked into reasonable life choices by Yurio.

By a sixteen-year-old, hormonal, _Yurio_.

“He went to Japan without fulfilling his promise to me, probably researched the shit out of you to know where to go, and probably stuttered his ass in order to find you in all of Hasetsu. So you best not start wallowing, you moron.”

“Yurio.”

“ _Did I stutter?_ I will do as threatened, you—”

“Thank you, Yurio.”

Yurio’s eyes widened, but something tells Yuuri it must have been relief. “Go out there and show them that Viktor’s geezer ass is not useless. He’s trained you all this time, didn’t he?”

Yuuri washed his face, blew his nose, and stepped out of the men's room."

And for the first time since he earned his spot on the GPF, he won his first gold.

-

“Now, now, Makkachin,” Yuuri patted the poodle’s head, smiling. “Don’t get too excited or your papa’s going to come home with a sprained ankle.”

Makkachin whined, looking at Yuuri with pleading eyes.

They stood in front of the hospital, waiting for Viktor to come out, since Makkachin wasn't allowed to get past the doors.

“I know, I know,” Yuuri laughed. “I missed him too, but it’s best not to injure him as soon as he gets back from the hospital. We’re going out to dinner tonight, remember?”

Makkachin raised her head abruptly, eyes wide and alert, and the next thing Yuuri knew, the poodle was bounding toward the opposite direction. Before Yuuri could even look up to see where she’s gone to, he heard someone fall, Makkachin barking excitedly.

Yuuri looked to see Viktor lying on the grass, laughing and scratching an excited Makkachin, his smile almost unbelievably bright. Viktor is a bright star, after all. “Did you miss me, Makkachin? Did you? Of course you did!”

“She’s just probably expecting treats and won’t bother with you again,” Yuuri put his hands on his waist, enjoying the touching reunion before him. He realized how much he missed seeing this.

Viktor looked up, hand on his chest. “Ouch, _Zolotse_. I know she likes you better, but at least give me this one. Even if you have to lie about it.”

“Hmmm, yes. But you made me promise to be honest with you all the time.” Yuuri approached them slowly, held out his hand for Viktor to take, and Viktor pulled himself up.

As soon as he was standing, Viktor took Yuuri’s face into his hands and kissed him, long and familiar and filled with all the love in the world.

Viktor pulled away and smiled. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“Did you make me katsudon?”

“No,” Yuuri smiled, leaning in for another quick kiss, and embraced Viktor tightly. “But there is miso soup waiting for you. Not sure how it went since I didn’t do a taste test yet.”

Viktor hummed into Yuuri’s hair, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear. “I feel at home already.”

“Even if you get a stomach ache?”

“Yeah, but at least I’ll regret ever loving you sitting on a toilet at home.”

-

Yuuri stood beside his best man, at the reception of their Spring wedding in Barcelona.

“That has got to be the first time tonight,” Phichit slurred, cheeks pink.

He was referring to the fact that Viktor and Yuuri had been inseparable all night, Viktor only detaching himself from Yuuri to go to other side of the open garden.

Phichit had joked that it wasn’t like they wouldn’t have the time to be together for the rest of their lives, and Yuuri laughed.

Yuuri looked to where Viktor was, chatting with Yurio and Otabek. Yuuri noticed Yurio’s closeness with Otabek of late, and Viktor had the idea to give them “the talk” right then and there.

Yurio looked like he was about to combust at the moment, Otabek blushing slightly, and Yuuri worried that Viktor might come home with a missing tooth that night. He had been warned.

“I sure hope we don’t make an emergency trip to the dentist tomorrow,” Yuuri muttered to Phichit with a sigh.

Everyone was there. This included Yuuri’s family, Minako-sensei, the Nishigoris and their triplets, their Russian rink mates, other figure skating friends, and yes, even JJ and Isabella. Although everyone liked Isabella better.

Those who couldn’t come sent their love, including Minami and a few kids from Hasetsu, who Yuuri met at the Ice Castle a few months ago. Viktor made wonderful friends in his stay at the hospital, and they all sent their greetings, along with a demand to meet Yuuri soon.

Everyone was dancing, mostly thanks to the open bar by the left side of the garden, and Phichit was taking photos of people to be added to his ever growing collection of blackmail. Yuuri had asked him to take none of him that night, as a best man and as a best friend.

“I’m so happy for you,” Phichit said, maybe for the umpteenth time. “I know it’s kind of a married couple’s thing and it’s none of my business, but I will be mad if you didn’t send me pictures of your time in Croatia. Or was it Milan? I don’t know anymore.”

“Croatia,” Yuuri replied, gingerly sipping at his third flute of champagne. “Viktor insisted to drive around but we still have a competition to go to.”

Viktor’s cycling emotions didn’t exactly stop. Some days, he’d still come home with stuff they didn’t need (like one time, when Yuuri had arrived to a large package that he soon discovered to be a new refrigerator) and some days, Viktor will not have the motivation to do anything. For those down days, Yuuri stays home with him, watch some Netflix or make him food to remind them of Hasetsu, and wait out until the down time ends.

Opening their medicine cabinet, now organized with Viktor’s mood stabilizers and Yuuri’s anxiety pills, have now become part of the routine. That didn’t bother them at all. It wasn’t a big deal to the both of them, and sometimes, they even joked about naming their kids _Xanax_ and _Lithium_.

“Right, so pictures?” Phichit said, grinning.

Yuuri shrugged. “Sure,” he said. “Even if I didn’t do that, it’ll be all over Vitya’s Instagram anyway.”

“Ah, _Vitya_ ,” Phichit mused. Yuuri realized he had just used Viktor’s nickname, and blushed. “Speaking of dear Vitya, go dance with him before somebody hauls him first.”

Yuuri checked the time. It wasn’t even late yet. “But Phichit—”

“No buts, Katsuki Yuuri,” Phichit winked. "Didn't I always tell you that?"

And with that, Phichit practically shoves Yuuri toward Viktor, almost tripping over his own feet.

Viktor saw him, grinned at Chris, and excused himself.

“Vitya?” Yuuri said, as soon as Viktor was coming toward him.

“Yes, Mister Katsuki-Nikiforov?”

Yuuri felt his heart stutter. The good kind. “May I—May I have this dance?”

Viktor blinked, and then he smiled wide, the smile that melted Yuuri’s heart a thousand times before. Viktor, after all, is a meteor shower—rare and beautiful and breath taking. “It’s an honor.”

Yuuri led him to the centre of the dancefloor, the crowd parting for them both, all eyes on them.

Yuuko was visibly crying at the sight.

Mila winked their way.

Chris whistled from the sides.

Yurio was, well _Yurio_.

He felt uncomfortable from the overwhelming attention at first, but all that disappeared when Viktor took his hands and put them on his shoulders, Viktor slipping his around Yuuri’s waist.

Viktor leaned in to poke his nose endearingly on Yuuri’s own.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“You look beautiful.”

“You look beautiful- _er_.”

“I’m not sure that’s a proper word,” Yuuri muttered, eyes on Viktor and only on him.

“You just ruined the mood, my sweetness.” Viktor bent down, his head cradled on Yuuri’s shoulder. He was silent for a while, just slowly dancing while Yuuri was leading, and then whispered, “Mama called just after the ceremony.”

Yuuri stiffened, heart pounding as he waited for Viktor to say something else. Maybe get angry.

“She said she’s met you and was proud that I have chosen a great man to be with,” He sighed. “And that she’s sorry.”

Yuuri kissed his temple gently, a silent response.

“I said I’d forgiven her,” Viktor whispered. “And I apologized for not being there when Papa turned his hand against her.” Viktor’s voice was very small now, as if he was only muttering to himself. “Would you want to visit my mother in Moscow? Maybe this Christmas?”

“I'd love to,” Yuuri smiled.

They danced in silence again, not minding the world around them, and then, Viktor kissed Yuuri’s neck. “I love you, _Zolotse_. God, I love you and I’m not sure my chest will ever be able to contain it.”

“I know, Vitya. I know.”

Viktor hummed. They stayed like that for a while, and soon, everyone else who stood on the side lines joined them on the dancefloor. They swayed to the gentle sound of the piano and the violin, and as Yuuri looked up, it was in time for him to catch a shooting star.

Viktor is a kaleidoscope, and he is beautiful.

He is unpredictable, but he is magnificent.

He is broken, and Yuuri loved all of the broken pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to those waiting for more smut. I thought I'd do that, but that would ruin the mellow atmosphere I was trying to achieve.
> 
> Thanks for sticking with this fic until I finished it, loves. You are all wonderful. <3


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